Every Morning We Wake In Our Warm Beds
While He Wakes Up In The Dust And Heat...
The tones of our skin
The colors of our eyes...
Michael Came Home
By Mark Spencer...
I'm sorry this must be in writing rather than in...
I feared that by facing you with my decision...
I see the hills and empty fields
Encased in dusty hue...
The bombs fly
a rain of fire...
When your sad
Hurt or lonely...
In silence and confinement
resides his soul's merriment...
"what do you wanna be when you grow up?"
he thinks of his long list...
A husband sent off to war
fighting for his country...
His folly is his downfall
every turn may be his last...
The land of olives
Obliterated to a struggle for life...