I taste the limpid moonlit night;
the wandering cloud aglow with thirst;
whose liquid bowl innards seduce
the stars with promises of old...
The Wasting Ways Of War
They all weep.
War poems, Documentary scripts
File pictures, all cry that
War is about the brave men;
Speak says the eagle
and the screeches in the caverns
shatter the rocks.
You saw her striding through her life
shaking off the relics of her own penury of purpose;
Her eyes seeking without knowing.
You watched as she hastily dried the rain
So all must die and I must too
not at peace in my own bed