Kurt Philip Behm Poet Rhyme

Beauty Fraught

I was a soldier, but never sure
  of those things I was  
  charged to do

I was asked to fight
  pick up helmet and gun
  men dying around me I knew

The places I’ve been
  and the things I’ve done
  all eclipse the known profane 

Now with beauty fraught
   I lock the gate
    —inside this prison I remain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

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Line Gauthier March 13, 2018 at 1:49 PM Reintegration has to be so very difficult. A very poignant poem, Kurt.

Reason A. Poteet March 13, 2018 at 1:05 PM The hyperbole here is impressive. While many may be in a literal prison, I feel sure you take consolation in your prison of the mind. Another welcome read as I tour your pages.