A Mother’s Heart Breaks

By Alesha

A mother’s heart breaks,
As she watches her son,

Climb on the train,
Her heart as heavy as a ton.

Tears run down her cheeks,
Because this might be the last time,

That she will see him in life,
Alive and in his prime.

His uniform is army green,
And he wears it with pride,

He promises to send letters,
As many as the world wide.

Unkowing of the hardships,
That he will soon face,

Innocent to the fact,
That his life will be a race.

Hiding in trenches,
Dodging bullets and bombs,

Wishing with his friends,
That they were home with their moms.

* * * * * *

One quiet night,
A large bombs explodes,

His best friend is killed,
His heart changes mode.

Anger and frustration,
Hurt and fear,

He cries out to God,
And asks if He’s near.

He sees an enemy uniform,
Takes aim and fires,

He walks to the body,
His feet sinking in the mire.

He wanted to see,
His enemies face,

Because it was for revenge,
That his feelings were based.

It was a man like this man,
Who had taken his best friends life,

And it was at that moment,
That he felt the pain just like a knife.

It twisted through his heart,
Almost taking his breath away,

He would always and forever remember,
The exact details of that day.

He turned his enemy over,
And that’s when the tears began to start,

His enemy was but a boy,
The bullet had peirced his heart.

The man fell to his knees,
Tears racing down his cheeks,

He cradled the boy,
And rocked him as if to sleep.

He cried for the boy,
For his father and mother,

He cried for his friends,
His sisters and brothers.

And when his eyes,
Had finally been cried dry,

His heart continued on,
To sob and to cry.

He opened his mouth,
And raised up his head,

He cried out to God,
“Couldn’t it have been me instead?”

He closed the boy’s eyes,
And lowered him gently to the ground,

Th fighting had ceased,
There was hardly a sound.

As the man buried the boy,
He looked for something to mark the grave,

But all he could find,
Was a sharp wooden stave.

He stuck it,
in the ground,

At the head,
Of the mound.

He bent his head,
And said a prayer,

And when he looked up,
“IT” was there.

A poppy had grown,
At the foot of the stave,

It’s blood red petals,
A reminder of what he had gave.

It had grown within,
A few minutes or less,

A miracle indeed,
A sign that this boy had been blessed.

* * * * * * *

A few months later,
The man walked up to a door,

He ding-donged the doorbell,
And heard footsteps on the floor.

The cane that he leaned on,
Showed that he had been spared,

Then the door opened,
The woman stood there and stared.

Then her face broke into a smile,
And down her cheeks ran silent tears,

She gathered her son into her arms,
And in that moment remember her fears.

That he wouldn’t come back,
That she would be all alone,

Then she raised up her head to thank God,
For bringing her son back home.

* * * The End * * * * * * *