It seemed that fate,
as he interpreted
it, and those other,
less important matters,
was just sooo fickle,
and never ever
would it come
to save the day
for two wild boys
who had been born
into a world
where dust of war
still had not settled,
after all.
It was the stress
he later said,
called post-traumatic.
We could not know,
nor be expected
at our age,
that nerves had been,
without much warning,
but cold abandon,
rubbed til they glowed
in red hot fire
inside one’s soul.
And, so it followed
when moods befell him
he welcomed anger
and opportunity,
presented
as it was
by two wild boys.
He beat the living
and so memorable
daylights,
which lit the way
inside the innocence
of youth, til darkness came.