With wars at every dawn,
Danger prowls—a hungry beast.
One must don their armor,
Or fall where life has ceased.
Yet armor weighs upon the fighter,
Restricts step, exhausts the might,
But shields the heart and guards the soul,
Sustaining life through the endless fight.
You who walk unarmored,
Must sell your all to gain your shield,
For battle comes—none shall be spared,
And empty hands will never yield.
The day of blood will soon arise,
When armor’s stock is spent and gone,
And none will lend their own,
For all must strive to survive the war.
I am your friend —
I did not knock —
I waited till your Door was wide
Enough for Trust —
I brought no Crown —
Nor Argument —
I carried only Quiet Thought
And Time’s Consent —
Your Mind — so clear —
Unarmored — free
Of clanging Ego’s Iron Name —
Walked out with Me —
We spoke in Books —
And measured Air —
With Lines that knew how much they meant
But not despair —
I kept you from the Granite Rooms
Where Silence wears a Gavel’s Face —
By standing still —
And letting Patience pass for Grace —
The Judge — who once weighed my Fear —
Now weighs the Years —
And finds no Regret remains —
Where his Mercy — kept me Free
You would emerge —
Refined — composed —
As if the Storm had taught your Coat
How to be closed —
Extremely well Read —
You greet a Line
As one greets Homar — not to impress —
But to belong —
So take my Hand —
Not as a Guide —
But as the Friend who knew you first —
And stayed — beside —
For Intelligence — when free of Pride —
Needs only this —
A Mind — a Book —
And one true Friend —
I woke each break with cast a shadow on my chest,
a nameless weight that stole my needed rest.
It spoke in lies I dared not try to fight,
and turned the morning darker than the night.
I laughed in rooms so no one saw the ache,
while every smile felt brittle, thin, and fake.
It fed on doubt, on all I held in fear,
until my hope grew faint then disappeared.
And saw not ruin but a quiet resurrection.
A spark within me, stubborn, fierce, and small,
whispered, rise now…you will not fall.
I never struck it down with a conqueror's sword—
I just smply prevented confiding the fibs it made.
I stood unarmored yet would not yield—
my heart-- the only weapon I could wield.
It roared, it clawed, but I refused to bend;
its reign of silence met a sudden end.
And in that breath, my life was rearranged—
The day the beast cut down, was the day I changed.
The King
The king was quite old, but not senile,
And his problems with sex were not penile.
He could rut with the best,
When put to the test,
And got plenty of rest in between while.
The Queen
The queen wanted Sir Bruce for her lover,
But said knight had his sights on another.
She became unenamored,
When she caught him unarmored,
And in bed with Sir Frederick, her brother.
The Prince
The crown prince of a country in Asia
Loved a commoner named Anastasia.
When his parents demurred,
He said, "Don't be absurd",
And promptly employed euthanasia.
The Princess
The queen's plot was more than merely a jest,
But still Princess Winifred proved she was the best
When that small pea-sized lump
Left a dent in her rump
And allowed her to pass the "sensitivity" test.
The Duke
The Duke of Milan was an arrogant man,
Pugnacious, mendacious, and vain.
He was also a mess
For he loved to cross-dress
In ruffles and bustles and trains.
A snow bound silence descends now
upon my hallowed home,
the traffic's gone, the streets unplowed
and I'm engrossed in tomes.
A ribald tale of myst'ry roils
the knights have charged the breech
the bard sings tall tales of old
of maiden's love's unleashed.
The pendants mark the battles course
as Saxons face the Celts
unarmored men fought Saxon's, Norse
in naught but paint and pelts.
And so it was, and so it is
as men live or die for a kiss.
i cannot touch your silence.
you are in a darkness
only you can know.
for there are battles
only you can fight,
unarmed,
unarmored.
i can only watch by the battleside
mutedly helpless,
hoping i can cheer in triumph
as your banner floats
victoriously by.
(17 july 1980)
Peace was beyond me the other night,
violence tested me with painful plight,
moseying tricks to loiter and fall,
the notions of proper etiquette's crawl,
See, violence only acts as fare,
to dis-armor peace's proportions of care,
until lowering defenses in hope attain,
the witted injustice's chance to obtain,
submission, reaction, to increase the like,
of inherent anger enhancing its strike,
tattering peace now unarmored loses
to waring and hurting stillness with bruises.
All because I wasn't ready for war
spirits testing my steady hand's core
and I failed my good God testing in this
violence consuming in another try miss
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