and sucked at the souls
of the living.
and the darkness had faces
insulated in plastic tombs,
waving flags and rhetoric,
thriving on despair.
and the lips of the dying
were parched with thirst;
bodies thrown in the great fires,
melted into vapor.
and the promise of apathy
came to be with violence.
the carcass of the eagle lay rotting,
feathers lost to the infidel wind…
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the stargazer
in a small boxtied neatlywith a ribbonand a bow….and gave itto the little boy,lying afraid, andsleepless….alone,and crying inan empty apartment….the little boy stopped crying,closed his eyes, went to sleep…and dreamed….of a world where mothersand fathers wanted their children…and loved them….the stargazer took his cane,and made his way down the alleyto a stoop, and sat down…to…
tis the sound of thunder,
the sound of crying,that drives the pain.the footfall of a thousand angels weeping.tis the sound of faces,without form or name.the sound of feet,with nothing to gain.the star above a thousand children sleeping.tis the heart unbound,the shattered soul.tis the hand extended,that cannot hold.the waiting at the edge of endless night.tis the broken vase,the candle spent.the holy…
whose voice do you hear?
whose body before you,lifeless in the night?are you then prayer,the reason for prayer,or the answer?whose tremble in your hands?whose guilt etched in your face?whose give did you take?whose mouth left hungry?are you then forgiveness,the reason for forgiveness,or the need?whose god did yours kill?whose sons did your war murder?whose plate did you steal from?whose blanket do…
letting go…
i have loved…of the womani think she is,that i dream she is…that i wantedher to be…loving her enoughto let her bethe woman that she is…and accept her forwho she is…
so tired and weary,
tired of facingthe night alone.climbing the mountain,only to fall.pounding my fists,against the wall.there is a wind,that has no name.that stills the heart,and eases the pain.there must be a home,on down the line.i just want…some peace of mind.how many battlescan you fight and lose?how many roadsfor a man to choose?how many daysin the heat of the…
the leaves on the tree are whispering…
birds prepare their wings for journey,i sharpen the axe, the woodpile grows.the fields mourn with stomachs filled.the chimney moans with an ache.brandy waits on the shelf in silence.mason jars filled with beans.the air pregnant with chill and woodsmoke,this body ripe with the taste of love.unmarked graves wait for headstones,pumpkins wait for the knife.eyes turn, waiting…