Guns feel neither pain or shame, nor reason or rhyme.
They send messages by air mail with postmarks of death.
The boy in the wire was too young to be a soldier.
When he was alive, no one announced his coming
and no bell tolls his death.
No college welcomed him to their rolls
He was never in “Who’s Who.”
But his life had value and worth.
Here, under a dewy curtain, he lies alone,
no longer concealed by darkness, for lights reveal
that which darkness deceives.
The wind blows dust mixing it with the color
of crimson and black hair.
The last shot's long since departed and silence
stand guard on these acres.
Death in the wire and a body that drips blood
in the night under a brilliant moon that stares down
and clouds lie scattered over “No Man’s Land.”
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Memories of war for me to ponder and wonder if the gangs and thugs in our cities
and towns ever recall their victims. Will they think of them
years later and consider their worth?
Does sleep still come easy? I recall the Bible saying "I'll Turn Them
Over to a Reprobate Mind."
Categories:
postmarks, memory, war,
Form: Free verse
1/28/19
"No Heart"
Studied a flowchart
Then opened a letter with postmarks
Is a slow start
Better than having no part?
Everybody thinks they're so smart
A divided world continuing to grow apart
Listening to music by Mozart
While making my very own art
My soul dark
Cold and sharp
Even when I'm an old fart
Take you out with a blow dart
And speed off in a go-kart
Don't start
What you can't finish, if you got no heart
You most likely will not go far
Just like time has shown so far
Left the boatyard
Then saw the coastguard
While I was using sonar
And holding a crowbar
I will deal you the most harm
If your responsible for letting folks starve
I'll make you sink quick, won't let you float far
Categories:
postmarks, dedication, fun, poetry, poverty,
Form: Rhyme