Children in War


Around this world we’d like to think there’s peace,
but often dreams are all we know to hold.
Many don’t see the truth behind facades
which covers lies so black, as night
hides light. And so we turn our heads from fact
while paths burn down our souls to save ourselves.
To keep our children safe and free we fight
but only in shadows. We teach love like
it’s rain that pours, streaming from clouds. Unlike
the violence which floods and overcomes.
Deeply gathered wounds caused from all the
attacks on human love. Love and hatred 
lie deep in puddles near where children play,
who know only that love is like the rain.
A rain that falls interspersed with shells sent
from fathers like theirs, and so they ask us, “Why?”

Love’s Bite


There seems to be a common theme
those who were once lovers are now haters.
And from all the tales of anguish, fate errs
all too often. Love is denied. Dreams
are lies. Fruit that leaves a taste so bitter
I shrivel up inside and my tongue stays
open while my eyes stay dark, unseeing. There lays
Fate reclining on her couch, juice drank. Sure
and true, she wove love’s raw taste. Her
joyous tale spun wrong, the acrid strands
overwhelm. The roots grow deep; marks from bands
are tasted through time, even in pleasure.

When the final fruit falls to ground, love’s plight
is grasped in Fate’s hand, ready for our bite.

An Afterthought


In a large expanse, 
two children play

with sunlight streaming across
the lawn. The afternoon

is becoming an afterthought,
as this day will soon be.

Those trees cast shadows,
but no longer stand. 

Breathlessly energetic, clad in
white, she brings smiles and songs,

Her hand brushing a small
boy’s head. 

He sits leaning against her leg,
a blue shirt covers his belly.

Who remembers this snap
of time? A memory surely

so vague that the grass
no longer remembers the 

branches that once stretched 
across its green.

And yet I can still feel the sunlight
caressing my shoulders.

And I can feel my brother’s
softness leaning.