He stands where silence hums against the grain,
A soldier bound by ghosts behind his eyes,
Steel threads his chest, but not his ache or strain
The faded photos whisper lullabies.
Each taped-up moment clings like prayer to wood,
Though time has thinned what brotherhood once stood.

The camo hugs like armor and like chain,
Yet every fold remembers where he’s bled.
The wall, a shrine to joy not born of pain,
Still leans with shadows of the living dead.
He guards the space where memory dares to tread,
A quiet oath still echoing, unsaid.

The mirror watches with a hollow stares
Not quite a man, not wholly lost to war.
The past reflected, stripped and laid out bare,
Tattooed with names he doesn’t speak any more.
His silence roars where once he swore with pride,
Now draped in years he never set aside.

The brothers in that photograph still grin,
Suspended in a frame, immune to dust.
But he’s the one left carrying memories of them,
Their birthdays, burdens, courage, grit, and trust.
They marched beside him, now he walks alone,
A relic housed in flesh, not yet stone.

So steel your heart, and do not call it brave
This life of war is not a badge to wear.
Each breath he takes, he pulls out of the grave,
Each smile a lie, each laugh a threadbare prayer.
The vest may guard his ribs from a bullet's intent
But never from the hollow grief of death.

Pure the morning dew
Humming wings beat,petals drift
Forgot-me-nots wake

I know who you are,
          but I don’t exactly know
          who you are to me, so
do I really know who you are?

I know who I am,
but I don’t exactly know
          who I am to you,
          nor even may I know
          who I am to myself, so
do I really know who I am?

I know what I feel,
           but I don’t really know
           what I know about what I feel, so
do I feel what I feel?

I know what I see,
          but I don’t really see
          what I know, so
do I see?

I hear what the world says,
          but I can’t hear
          what I say, so
do I hear anything at all?

I walk my own steps,
          but I don’t know
          where the road ends, so
am I really going anywhere?

I know why the sun sets
and why falls the night,
          but I don't know
          why there isn't another

rosy return      rosy return      rosy return 
                     
          for the mere man, so

               is he all about the night
               and his life but a dream?

What do I know of the things I know?
What do I see in the world I see?
What do I know of the things I feel?
Where do I walk to if it’s just a dream?

               And if it’s a dream,
               whose dream may it better be?

05/05/2025
Hirondelle

When the dusk skies’ moon
Finds us creeping through the night
Might I take your hand
A gentle grasp with mine
And pray to our God above
That the moonlight won’t catch us in time