Poems by Regina M. Elliott

To my dearest mother and father,
I was your only child,
you both desired that I go to college.
But I joined the Army right after I
finished high school.
There you were at my boot camp
graduation,
clapping in the stands,
your eyes were welling,
so proud of me.

Mom, your warm homemade bread
scent filled our farmhouse with comfort,
it tasted so heavenly with our own
churned butter.
Dad, I wish I could shoot baskets with
you again,
the Middle East wars claimed so many
of us,
yet, our valor and honor survives.

Please, don't feel the painful aching in
your chests anymore,
please don't weep,
as I still feel summer timothy beneath
my bare feet in the purest of dew.
I hadn't a betrothed to carry in my
heart,
but, then again, I was only nineteen.

At the Veterans Cemetery with family
and friends in an ebony clothed sea of
mournful humanity,
Mom, the folded flag of our America
was placed gently in your hands.
I know your souls have a brokenness
over the loss,
yet, God has me for the ages.

I miss working our dairy farm,
the cow's mooing is sweet music
to me.
There are other fallen soldiers midst
us,
it is sad to say some didn't hear
from home.
Our spirits are here with you,
my beloved parents.
We are standing watch over our
farm of many acres.
And, dear Mom,
we can smell your homemade
bread,
that fills our afterlives with love.

The souls of the seas are committed to their
maritime dwell,
and the reflected tides shall bear stars on
silent waves that mourn.
I expired in sorrow's seizing of my life,
and now my grieving for humanity has
left my earthly body.
My soul journeys to beloved Yeshua-
as the merpeople attend my seashell bier
in the summer temperate of the
vasty Atlantic's heart.

starlight and raven waters
silence white of eyes
shadows nearing shore

i dreamt passing through eden's bidding gates....
walking down glittering roads

a gathering of charity's lifted souls....yuletide
hearts rejoiced glad

angels praised his goodness....poinsettias
circled round his blessed presence

Summer lover's moon shyly enclosed in
silvered clouds,
a honeyed recollection-
white caps of memory waves,
cresting, curling dreamily,
a tide under eve's star canopy,
coupled in enchantment,
entwined on the beach.

North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she, so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette,
as she entered God's garden
of youth.

The anguish tatters the sails
of my psyche,
as the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky.
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages,
no, please no, she was a
precious one.

The dew glistens on the
white-hued roses of
maiden innocence,
as if tears on an
infant's cheeks.
Elena, our ballerina
of grace,
Death passes into life,
your beauty of a June
magnolia blossom,
charming the angels who
attend you.

Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy,
still dwells in our midst,
Your name whispered in
summer's evefall starry music.

o the vast lawns of white stones silent....
as a sparrow tends to her new clutch

only in engraving they speak soldiers' names....
and the wars they fell in

men and women of brave....as the bugle weeps
in taps too young in sleep

hearts in cadence stilled....wars are storming
bastards of fire roaring death

soldiers' stories whispered in....aligned
standing rows of everlasting