Lisa I. Hilbers
THE SHINES OF WAR
She stands in the kitchen window, staring out at the rising dust,
Knowing five minutes before they arrive, there is soon to be a knock at the door.
She peers through the French lace curtains, and all the blood rushes to her feet,
When she recognizes the emblem, U.S. Department of War.
The reflection off the car, was as clear as the brass he displayed upon his chest,
As the announcement of his visiting intentions, burned painfully in her mind.
With great regret I must inform, words with a deafening tone,
In this box, are your son’s effects; all that we could find.
Her heart was shattered as the numbness took over her body,
Not even tears could find their way through.
He gave his life proudly defending his Country,
Under the Stars and Stripes of the Red, White and Blue.
No words were spoken from her pale white lips,
As she watched them drive away,
The dust trail once again flying through the air,
Leaving her alone to mourn and pray.
She crumbled into a tearful heap upon the cold hardwood floor,
And removed the top from the box they had so proudly presented.
She thumbed through the letters, and trinkets, and at the bottom lay his tags,
And on them was his name, his number so boldly printed.
To them he was nothing more than a number and name, upon a cold metallic tag,
One of so many, now, no more than a statistic.
But when a grieving Mother holds them in her hands,
The horrors of war, becomes all too painfully realistic.
And the war rages on – and another Mother feels the sting,
As that bright shiny car pulls from the drive.
Leaving behind a trail of tears, heading for the next door,
To tell another, their son too, won’t be coming home alive.
©Copyright January 26, 2003 by Lisa I. Hilbers