Love Doesn’t Need A Cape
The ancient diesel generator thrums
solitary sentinel in the night.
And yet it is peaceful,
the rebels have moved on
to torment other outposts of misery
in this vast wilderness.
The thrum tells that the hospital is at work,
late into the night
as it has these past months,
or is it years?
I’ve lost count in the blur.
The team will work till they drop,
as they always do
in this sea of sorrow.
Trying to restore life
to staunch the loss of future,
that landmines and bullets have stolen,
before it turns to despondency.
There is no telephone booth in this village,
love doesn’t need a cape.
©Paul Vincent Cannon