god forsaken trail
through the year’s barren terrain
after a night’s rest
we’ll awaken and stare out
finding that same road waiting
pain
mistaken idenity…
every since
high school
you’ve
counted
too much
on
angels
when things
were
bad
you’d quietly pray
that
your angel
would
take the pain
away
it never did
but
you continued
to pray
and when
as
one might expect
the
pain
gave way
to
joy
you credited
your
angel
ignoring
what you
and
your friends
had done
to clear away
the
darkness
perhaps
the light of joy
blinds us
to
the real angels
in our lives
the ones
without wings
that by no standard
could be confused
with some
angelic form
but
that are
none the less
performing miracles
that change
the path
of
our future
viewing the dead…
december 2000
it was
a rather
strange part
of a bike tour
a mandatory viewing
of
uncle ho
where
we
in
a single file
walked solemnly
around
his glass enclosed
preserved
body
soldiers
assured
that there would be
no
photos
or
talking
it seemed
obvious
that
his true memorial
was not
within
those walls
but
outside
in the laugher
of
the school children
who
never had experienced
war
they
had moved on
from
the past
that day
made me
realize
that
we all
frequently
view the dead
whether
or
not
we want
to
admit to it
it might be
an old friend
or
a loved one
or
perhaps
just a moment
in
time
you know
that special memory
that
we
must view
over
and
over
again
a viewing
that keeps us bound
to
yesterday
and
unable to move on
to
the rest
of
life’s tour
unobtainable…
bird outside window
stares at the warm fire inside
joins winter’s harvest
the road to pain…
with
stones of doubt
stuffed
into a backpack
the journey
begins
emotions
on
uneven footing
at first
there’s
a willingness
to
step over
shattered expectations
then
comes
compromising
on
the path
to
be taken
traveling
in
darkness
instead
of
the light
small clearings
from
chaos
give a false sense
of
hope
but
soon
brambles
of
hate and injustice
narrow
the aimless course
days
become nights
nights
become sadness
sadness
becomes
an eternity
winters…
your life’s dreams can end
like the snapping of dry twigs
for envy’s fire
immeasurable…
i am quite certain
deathbeds are uncomfortable
none will surely fit
the breadth of your existence
nor the sorrows from your loss
small seeds of life’s fortune…
penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside
old friends…
sounds
of
night traffic
pulsing along
urban roads
have replaced
warm laughter over
dinner debates
debates
on
everything
but
not on
what
defines friendship
that
was
known
and
required
no
amendments
to
what constituted
why
we
loved
one another
but now
an
emptiness
a
fading out
into
the arid landscape
of
time
where
a grave stands
unattended
for
all those
who
cared
are
gone
so this
grave
bearing
my
name
will be
drought-stricken
no
tears
from
those
i
loved
autumn patriots…
roadside
improvised
explosive
political devices
nothing more
than
home-made mercenaries
pretending
to
believe
in freedom
but
failing to understands
its
most basic principles
shedding
their white sheets
in order
to
change
their attire
into
that
of
those
they disgrace
true patriots
who died
for
freedom
those
the president
called
suckers
and
fools
whose
sacred ground
of
liberty
swine
now stand on
holding
weapons of war
like
ss goon squads
set on
purifying
the nation
a nation
to
which
they
have no true
alliance
rather
an alliance
to
ignorance
and
hate
