500 brigades to their death…

it was
to my understanding
hand-to-hand combat
though
there were
supporting efforts
the fights
were
on an individual basis
as such
no memorial has been planned
yet
these
hundred thousand souls
should not be
forgotten
for
when a soul
battles for life
the battle
is for all life
all those
that soul touched
or
would have touched
have
also suffered
death
some will know
to mourn
others
will only feel a sense
of
emptiness
not knowing

why
nor
could it be explained
if they knew
it was
the death
of
a soul not met
that created this void
in their life
for how does one explain
the death
of
so many
to satisfy
the insane aspirations
of
one man

 

driving instructions…

like
a child
staring out
the back window
of
their parent’s car
we pine
for
what was
as if
it were
really
as wonderful
as we
imagine
we forget
the arguments
and
incidences
that
ended with
our
early depature
declaring
that
we’ll
never return
to
this god forsaken place
or
talk to
this
persona of satan
ever again
yet
when we are
isolated
from reality
we embellish
the few morsels
of
joy
we had
creating
a fictionalized historical event
probably
as truthful as
most history
where the good guys
always win
and
the damsel in distress
is
a kung fu master
seems
we’re always
looking
for
the rationale
for
events
how do they
fit
into
the plan
and
purpose
of
life
well
this might surprise you
but
there is no
real purpose
nothing’s been
ordained
your empty minutes
and
hours
are controlled
by
no god
or
saint
it’s you
staring out the back window
instead
of
looking at
where
you’re driving to

 

inveterate…

has the world
changed
or
just
our
awareness
of
the world
the wounds
have always been there
some folks
just needed
a bit
of
salt
to feel them

 

replicas…

wrapped in a comforter
of
memories
lying
in bed
head buried
in
pillows
of
what could have been
day passes
into
tomorrow’s night
when
nothing changes
outside
the world
ignores
all human tragedy
as if
watching
an old rerun
and
perhaps
that is the case
history
repeating
don quixotes
we all

 

more acts of treason…

several
graves
hold
the souls
of
your
sons
and
daughters
war
executions
paid for
by
the president’s
friend
it has been
said
one
should be
judged
by
the company
you
keep

misinformation…

from broken windows
fear’s eyes peer into the night
seeing what’s not there
for ghost stories have been told
by those who thrive upon lies

 

the gnat’s complaint…

these webs
are
so unjust
flies
always die
staring
into
my eyes
with
the most
incriminating looks
as if
i
were the one
who spun
this web
but
i
and
those generations
before me
have been
trapped
within
these fibers
of
lies and promises
for
centuries
had i
been born
with
more mass
i
would have flown
right through
this
social web
no more
inconvenienced
than
needing
a quick shower
afterwards
but
that is not the case
i
linger here
as
a bit of amusement
and
as
a morsel
for
a boring day
a systemic slave
the quintessential
essential worker
to be
devoured
or
left
to
just
decay
and
die

 

when in interlude of darkness..

if
you
feel like
you’re crawling
through
mud
with
rancid water
soaking
your clothes
and
the weight
of
progress poverty
pressing
you further
into
the mire
of
inequity
you must
still
continue
the fight
for
social justice
but
each time
you grow weary
focus
on what you do have
those
loving hands
that
reach out for you
those
words
of kindness
and
appreciation
for
all you’ve done
and
those tearful eyes
that
look to you
for
what
you will
do