Scapegoat…..

O that our minds could wave the white flag of surrender
When the brutal memories of war attack
We lay there helpless and crippled in our sleep
As droplets of sweat pour from our backs

We twist and turn as if we could escape
The outcome of fire and the torrential rains
We dig a deep pit in which to hide
Only to uncover bleached white bones again

Sitting up in a haze of fevered confusion
Sheets clutched tightly within our grip
And the sounds we utter are but primal groans
But for the grace of God our very lives would slip

And we struggle to hang on to threads of sanity
While the haze of death clears from our eyes
As we sit there perched upon our feathered beds
And cry out into the darkness…..WHY!

Boon 1/22/04
©Richard Preston