Lost lives, lost in living hells
reminders everyday of the scars that tell
more than words could speak
just tips of icebergs, oh.. if only they could talk...

i, - salute the wounded healers-
only taughts to heals, because they began
by helaing themsleves.
and moving on - being bitter, wordless spits of grain in lips
and being an aching hearts so wide one would think they would die at any moment

and yet - there -  


there is solace

in the slowly ebbing  pain....day by day the cracks begin to tear...
and brightness burst forth - and hey , that may, take years moments , heartbeats stretching on
for the fallen undone,

and the breathless in San Diago
and the countless in New Delhi ,

and the scores and cores in the Congo

i salute all those still in the fight -
no matter how.