Droplets slap the dusty path winding to that stealing cocoon.
There you gladly grin waiting for adventure yet still clutching at my palms.
Tears etch my face in grief as I rip out my woeful wrenched heart.
I place its beat within your paw, praying you won’t leave it bereft.
My sleeves are soaked from rain, but more so from my twisted face and leaky eyes.
You stand in camouflage, disguising any remnant of a lover’s loss.
I can see anticipation in your eyes.
Mine are wells of gloss, fearful of the uncertain winding.
As we wait for the ticket to be taken,
You think of jet planes and maneuvers.
I think of body piles and peace treaties bombed.
I think of how
We’ll pen romance in ink rather than candlelit dinners and passionate kisses.
You’ll fire bullets while I’ll put out the fires from a budget gone awry.
You’ll hike the rocky terrain while I’ll tread our home’s wooded floors.
You’ll eat pocket pods while I ponder what one preps to eat alone.
I’ll read every letter print scrawling in the news.
You’ll attempt to keep those headlines silenced.
The seat’s cushion will bend forward, dropping me to knees.
I’ll beg, plead, and barter with the Lord.
You’ll bend from trench’s aches,
all the while praying God brings your brethren to himself.
You’ll question your brother’s salvation and know you’d give him your breath.
You’d save him from the battle’s fire that he might have a chance for the refiner’s.
Your concern for comrades will crash hopes of bringing you home to the place where I am sitting, save but a casket’s delivery.
The heart I gave when you stepped inside the craft will be buried with your ashes
as I’m left to traverse this realm as but a human shell. I’d pray he’d make beauty from your smoldering remains, but all the while doubting how I’d ever be the same.
You’d want me to tread the sea of faith, but your loss would be the millstone thrown around my neck. You see you are the preserver when my frail arms can’t endure the strokes of trust.
The righteous might scoff at the pedestal you’ve taken, the medal my love’s awarded you. I know it myself to be improper at times, but I can not fathom walking down the dusty road without you. If that time in war ever came to pass I’d be thinking about how that grenade should have been for me. I’d take punctures and lashes for you so that the world could have your treasured presence just a little longer. You also can handle the grief much better. You are stable in your Christ search and live for him more boldly. I, well I’m made better with you and am holier when our oxygenated hands are intertwined, not me grasping for your decaying metacarpals while at your viewing.
Yeah….I really shouldn’t watch movies like Act of Valor or Lone Survivor no matter how good they are. I’ve already lost a child through miscarriage. I need not entertain the nightmare of what I might feel is a greater tragedy. Tuesday’s movie left me rattled, bubbling every fear of an Army wife’s remorse and my greatest fear since getting married, to be a youthful widow.