We are in the queue,
me and you, we know it too:
our front line fallen.
Best not push too hard
or we’ll be displaced
and lives could tumble.
If we two could pick
any darn box we desired,
ours would be blood red,
filled with comrades lost
when choices were made
by God, them or us.
But we can only
push on with compromised hope,
chipped swords and hearts drawn
Come, let us exchange
He was once a real boy;
distinctly she remembered him
holding her hand and looking her in the eye.
These days, to gain his attention
she wore prescription 3D glasses
and sat in a life-simulating gaming chair;
unsure whether the blurred edges he exhibited
were the result of his stereoscopic obsession,
a definite change in generational perspective,
or the tears in her empty nest eyes.
Did I miss your call?
I heard that you were passing.
tick tock, tick tock, tick…
… only the sound of wings
War is a wasted land,
a wounded state where none may truly live,
so may not be defended;
whose deep ravines, made from dry, parted lips,
wide, fearful eyes, and broken homesteads,
are empty of prophet, in death, devoid of meaning;
where the very skin of earth is cut,
and love lies bombed and bleeding.
Courage can be a capital city
a freehold space where opponents come to sit
and hope be ever mended;
whose public belvederes and bowers, made strong
by transparent rumination and debate
all teem with life, in truth, where words have meaning;
where the very heart of earth is put,
and peace upheld with feeling.
Thing about souvenirs of time gone past
you make to move they try to hold you fast
the hands they used to tie her with their warnings to the gate
brought out the knife to cut her tether and a reason for escape
There is no running when your feet are bound
those too full arms will pin you to the ground
she would wear no shoes of lead now or the wishes of the dead
now running free was playing on her cards and dancing in her head
Turns out running is a thing she had to do
because this life was in a hurry she was too
she ran till no-one tried to stop her then she stopped –
Thing about travelling life so hard and fast
is the love you leave behind your running past.
L ead with an eagle’s eyes
O pen canyons
S hine beacons in the dark
T H I N K W I T H M E
The night fire blazes
casting shadows across the hills
acrid smoke scorching the throats of trees
They hold their ground
wrapping order in roots regrouping
on ancient acclivities and in wiser minds.