WWIII

It’s 2022, we’re in the final battle for the soul of the world.
There is no Indo-European root for soul,
the Greek and Germanic roots mean quick-moving, fleeting, mercurial.
I’d add evanescent, impermanent, ephemeral 
disappearing, diminishing, dwindling 
tenuous, brief, short-lived.
Whatever forever—that’s where we’ll be after WWIII.

World, home, think, breathe: man,
woman the vital force in man, the Anthropocene, men together 
violence, virtue, virility. Also, werewolf.
War: to confuse, mix up, make worse.
The old are paying close attention but my sons ignore the thunder, 
plate tectonics, gamma ray bursters and mortars on the Eurasian front. 
Peace out—the end, limit, boundary, never to have been. So long,
       sayonara, shalom, salaam. Take into eternity my hail and farewell.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace