Category: Poems

“Old men were once young, but it is uncertain if young men will reach old age.” Democritus

Three months is plenty of time

to train a boy to die

give him a gun

and no sleep

and he’ll be ready to fight

Three months is plenty of time

to train a boy to kill

send him out in the wild

destroy and rebuild

he’ll be ready to fight

Three years is plenty of time

to stain their sand red

send them out to the desert

to join the rest of our dead

there’s always someone else

willing to fight

The sky was a jealous mix

of sapphire and delicate white,

The wind tossed the leaves

in an angry dance upon the concrete.

As I reach down

to pick a perfect tulip –  

A shrill scream breaches the immobile silence.

I groan and reach for my alarm clock,

My hand skims the uneven surface of my nightstand –

two inches back, four to the left

third button on the top

same routine.

I press it and the room is silent.

I lay there with a vacant look

My thoughts back in dreamland

I sigh and sit up

and grab my cane,

It’s eight in the morning

the sun most likely shining bright

I rub my scarred eyes gently

For me, there’s only darkness.

Baby steps

Slowly walking down the dark paved road

Full moon

Calmly lighting my way

Hiding the stars

But I know they’re still there

Trees parallel

Abandoned by their leaves

Their lonely branches cast shadows

That caress my footsteps

As I slowly walk away