BARBWIRE

I opened my heart wide
To you, sweet Apollo
And you came in.
But what followed you,
Clinging to the hem of your mantle,
Like prickly burrs along for the ride,
Was barbwire
That tore wounds in the heart
That was offered to you.

Like, what?

Like, the slaughter of the innocent ones
In a war they did not start
And which they did not want.

Like, the throwing away of justice and respect for life
In the ugliness of war
By those we consider friends.

Like, the waste of lives and destruction of trust
In places of learning
Where every child and youth should feel safe.

Like, the quiet carnage of starvation
In lands where tyrants, not nature,
Are silencing the people with slow death.

I open my heart wide
To you, sweet Apollo
And let you come in
Where I ask you
To heal the wounds of the earth,
And heal the wounds of my heart.

--Phoebe 2002


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