The import of questions
I do not have all the answers.
But I do have questions.
And without the right questions
there can be no hope.
Copyright 2005 by Mark Leon Winegar
The True Price of Fear
2,127 soldiers have gone on ahead of uscrossing over into that blazing bright lightthey will be buried beneath a war torn sunleaving behind men, women and childrenwho thought they would be coming homeinstead they will become faceless namesengraved onto white limestone grave markerslined up in death uniformlysilence is their heaven nowa place where there will be no more guns,suicide bombers,sandstorms,direct orders.as that clump of dirt hits their coffinthe circle of life will breathe ongreen grass will grow over their place in the sunred, gold and brown leaves will swirlcrestfallen snow will be their winter carpetsummer storms will roll on bya lone soul pays one of them a visitleaving behind thunderstruck grief-stricken tearsthat only they will be aware offinding no solace in hugging a cold stoneno condolence will be enough forbush’s will be done.the heartbroken soul fades awayinto the distance of their lifeall because we allowed fearinto our vocabulary classifyingit as a new right.