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We Have A Stone


When my boy went off to war
hand in hand we watched the sun go down. 
his mother cried. I stood in the door. 
Two empty hearts with nor smile or frown,
 
Hands that could fix all things 
trembling now, dreams of tomorrow tossed.
Mother’s kitchen and dinners fit for kings,
gone dark and lonely –  future lost.  
 
Where once we had our life’s joy
now just silent screams and murmured moan 
“My boy they took my boy”,
now we have a stone.
 
We have a stone
among the trees, upon our knees
filled with worn out dreams
and sorrow-soaked memories
of good times and boyhood schemes.
 
We have a stone, 
upon a grassy hill
a cold reminder of life’s due
we visit often and always will;
and what we get when all is through?
 
We have a stone
so I don’t go to fancy places 
with names carved on  shiny rock 
and stand among the sullen faces
and listen to them talk.
 
We have a stone
and when the horror of it all wears thin
above the sounds of woe I  hear    
between the pride and pity, somewhere within   
laughing -- laughing loud and clear. 
                          -:-
 
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Michael Oates

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