The Face


The Face

It is the eyes that see far away
A piece of time where peace may lie
Behind the sounds of firing at anything that moves
And everything is moving.

It is hearing in the ear a whisper
From someone living distances off
In a foreign country
Once known as home.

It is the silence of the mouth,
Hidden with the pain of feeling only
The half consciousness of the body
Screaming for all to stop.

It is hair ruffled and slick with sweat
Of fear trickling down like a rain
Of shrapnel tearing reality
Into tiny segments of truth.

It is the face few ever see
Except those standing, kneeling by,
And the face someone miles in memory
Can see as once lit
With all the smiles of living
Not knowing if there is anything left
That will make its laugh loud
And its voice gentle in quiet nights
Or if it will be seen again.

This entry was published on May 26, 2014 at 6:00 am. It’s filed under Consciousness, Dance of Life, Death, Fragments, Life, Parable, Perception, Poetry, The Sacred and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

9 thoughts on “The Face

  1. Wow!!! Beautiful yet heartbreaking. Your words took me to a place where a young man dreamed the impossible dream of going back home.

  2. goddam you to heaven kab! this poem drags me back to the moment when we were mountain biking through the belgian ardens during my first summer as an ex-patriot! i encountered a US army tank rusting away in the foliage between one village and the next. i think it was cat stevens who once sang, “the first cut is the deepest.” he was wrong! the last cut is the deepest! this poem cuts way way way deep my brother!


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