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JUBILANT FATHER His face is like a sun, warms the moon beside him. She´s grown full; tonight begins the waning. The tide pulls through her very bones, her form aches as each wave crests. The earth pulse, heavy, blood warm within her Beats new chords, old sun god chants. "You are the first mother and the last, all spring flesh has traveled through you." Aztec plumed and gold beaded, your priest kneels at the holy alter, gathers each salt pearl shed, nectar for his sacrament. You are the temple, we pilgrims swept through the gates, bent figures know the scent and petals of your presence, spread our arms to harvest blossoms, and your priest, sun struck, kneels beside you.

- CRISTINE McAULIFFE

War Poem

War Poem

Rising

© By Anonymous

Rising is the roar of the engines as they near.
Rising is the plane over the horizon as it comes.
Rising is the sun that witnesses it all.
Rising are the eyes which watch it fly by.
Rising is the fear as the waning target appears.
Rising is the danger of all those close around.
Rising are the screams as the weapon hits its mark.
Rising is the fire that gleams its gory glow.
Rising are the feet the building falls to the ground.
Rising is the smoke coming from the ruins.
Rising the ash piling upon New York sidewalks.
Rising are the viewers turning on CNN.
Rising is the knowledge of what has just happened.
Rising is the emotion felt inside them all.
Rising is the anger towards those responsible.
Rising are the heroes pulling wounded from the dust.
Rising is the death toll of innocent lives.
Rising are the families who will no more be full.
Rising are the tears that a nation shares.
Rising is the pride toward a nation they now love.
Rising are the hopes of those found alive.
Rising is the unison the nation now shows.
Rising are the friends people never knew they had.
Rising is the thanks that they were not hurt.
Rising are the families that are brought closer together.
Surprising
how much had to fall
before anything began
Rising.



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