Picture on an iPhone

still undeleted, quietly waiting,
as yet unwary of fate’s travail,
mute witness, lips unabating,
whispers more breathlessly than my tale -
what are those palms that cast the shade?
and lilies, the ground enshrouding?
two lovers pose beside the sea,
still aglow from a moment just made,
with flashing eyes and lips yet pouting,
speak to the lens of kissing’s ecstasy.
 
my lovers’ voices were always sweet,
but in them, have I missed a tone?
the thumping rush of a heart complete,
that never again will beat alone -
with uniform and storied schmiss,
he’s gone forever from this beach,
with those who leave, never to return.
but haunted by that perfect kiss,
and though he’ll stay beyond her reach,
the fire of her love will always burn.
 
Is it a happy palm that’s always green,
and the garden’s lily, white as a dove?
or is the simple melody simply mean?
devoid of passion, absent real love -
his smoldering eyes full of onyx and ink,
her rosy throat and heaving breast,
youthful, yes, but I saw the kiss.
it moved me deeply, but made me think,
may I ever be happy with love like the rest?
forever aware, now, of true love’s bliss.
 
who are these boys, ripped from their roots?
sharpened like steel, shorn of their locks,
draped in ribbons and shod in boots,
off on the march, but home in a box -
in little towns, by river and shore,
how many homes and how many hearts,
are half empty today, missing their men?
can life ever again be like it was before,
for those who were whole, and now, just parts?
and who will recall when the drums sound again?
 
an orphaned photo of wanton delight,
young lovers embracing just after a kiss,
framed by green palms and lilies, all white,
it breathes a whisper we seem always to miss -
the truth is that a kiss given is always taken,
and lover’s hearts fill with beauty and awe.
so think, when the drum beats reach our ears,
or all that we love will fast be forsaken,
and marching into the red hungry maw,
we will send to die our young grenadiers.