Like a Sadistic hantha virus the infertility ate away our seeds... the children came less and less often to term of their own accord...

Fear gripped the sons of the great war.

All their power had no meaning in the face of this crisis, for each pill and injection, each and every additive and spray, was another Pomegranate seed hour of our daughters fertile youth

Gone forever?

I could not wake from my nightmare!


The sons shuddered Wombs hollow

Fathers denied offspring

child emptied

What of the Family? caverns buried

No mistress/handmaidens here

on unhallowed ground. Weeping meetings of grown men who keep promises.

In my dream, the sons of the great War were many, yea the pale legion, and their lamenting voices were loud across the airwaves....

Copyright © VideoPoet Digital Artist and Webweaver Amatul H. Hannan all rights reserved

Return to The Birdhouse Home Page...

Return to Birdhouse Writers