The Real Within

The Real Within

Protection that is only without

Cannot protect the within,

For what is without can be taken away,

But what is within remains.

In death we cannot take the without.

Only our realness within will go.

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Daddy, oh Daddy

Daddy, oh Daddy

Daddy, oh daddy,

Please love your little girl.

I’m scared, oh so frightened.

Let me in your lap curl.

Daddy, oh daddy,

I am a wee, wee tot.

I only want to laugh and play.

I don’t know what’s right, what’s not.

But daddy, oh my daddy,

I do not understand

Why you say you love me,

But on the other hand…

…daddy? Oh daddy?

Why does your love hurt so?

Why does what should bring me up

Make me feel so low?

ã19 June 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

What Fought For

What Fought For

Soldier, consider why you fight,

Why you march into the endless night

That could fall on you even if you live?

Soldier, what to you seems right

With war within your sight

That calls you your life and all to give?

The price paid is not just from you,

Those left behind and love you, too,

Pay your sacrificial price.

Is it for glory or what you think true?

Is it to protect that defends what you do…

And alone…will it suffice?

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

A Mother Cries for Her Fallen Son

A Mother Cries for Her Fallen Son

For Mrs. Goldcamp, Our Neighbor

Never will the guns be so silent

As the silence after death

Of those fallen to fight “the cause juste.”

Is a common life so shorn

Or youth so plentiful

To be offered up this way

By the wrathful God

Who has known not childbirth

Nor the enfolding of life

Into one’s arms, one’s heart, one’s womb?

In righting wrongs,

Did my son, my own,

Die suffering?

Did he fear the end when it came?

Did he know my love

Would outlast the grave…

Was this just cause worth this blood sacrifice

Offered to the God of war…

That tears my heart always?

Ah, my son, brave man and true,

Willing soldier, mother’s pride,

Well fought against madmen gone berserk

Setting the world on fire again.

Sleep now, my son,

For the guns are now dreadfully silent

But still at ready for

Another mother’s son.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

Now Silent

Now Silent

Stories oft heard, stories oft told,
Stories how often I said had grown old…
Now silent.
It was such a bother to listen
That one hundredth time more…missin’…
Now silent.

But, I still had plenty of time—
Could tell it myself on a dime…
Now silent.
Little details here and there
Seemed as common as the air…
Now silent.

The empty chair haunts the room;
The stories must somehow resume…
Now silent.
Never knew how silent silent could be…
When I had the chance why didn’t I see?
Now silent.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.
All rights reserved.

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Who said our soldiers could not be psychos?
Who said we always are saints?
Where is it written we do the right thing
And never show evil or taint?

War is hell, lest we forget it,
And crimes of war even much more…
Can we train a human to kill, not to feel,
Without evil allowed in that door?

Rape is a tool and an agent of war.
So is massacre, torture, mayhem.
Even a good man can snap to a monster
And live only to slay ‘em.

None of us are guiltless, much to our pain,
But we are trapped in this way,
If ever we forget the humanity of victims
From Coshocton to Mai Lai.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.
All rights reserved.

Who Determines Human?

Who Determines Human?

What makes difference too very different
To be considered human?
Does one particular type of person
Have only that special numen?

Does the phrase “not like us”
Have to equal “deserve to die?”
Can someone very different
Still basically be like you or I?

Many wars have been fought,
Many millions be killed,
These questions stay unanswered
And our hatreds remain unstilled.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.
All rights reserved.