What worries the weapon more than peace?
That sheath that seeks to still its story.
When kings grow old and tire of schemes
And children dream no more of glory.

What becomes the warrior
When heroes live only in song?
When there is no one left to conquer
And every battle has been won.

When the wind no longer speaks of steel
And mountains have forgot our name.
When all that's left are memories
Of the fallen, Of the shame.

Worry not though for the blade.
Spare no thought toward the sword,

For peace shall fall to slumber.

War will wake once more.

to have loved deeply is to be mold
carved by the warmth of the hands you dearly hold
to be loved is to be told
of love reciprocated,
words affirming,
priceless yet cannot be sold.

the thought seizes me awake,
after a heart powered hour of sleep,
rise in silent reverie, nary a peep,
though my heart rate breeeches
150 miles per hour, each beat

yesterday wrote of the eloquent
sensibility of simplicity, its natural
native appeal, and when I think of
things that world needs most urgently
which is, for poets a de rigeur activity,
fyi, that more common than uncommon,
sobelieve in my expertise,
we need badly, another Hobbit movie pretty please!

we need rallying after the tallying,
we need fellowship among the species,
a crossover inclusive of the animal kingdom,
require fearless leaders who value selflessness
over personal gain,
less optimism rhetorical,
and some plain honesty to give the world
the equity of equality,
what it wonts,
and not what pro poli’s
tell you think
which slogans sell…well


whent to the corner store,
bot all kinds of fall
colors of berries and tiny flowers,
went all-in unreasonable
on clot colossus seasonal,,
oranges, yellows and quiet quilts of
hardy little greens,
bread, OJ, larger uncaged eggs
a-dozing,
and though my impossible orders all fulfilled, the boss,?her list defeated,
by crossing off
my abbreviated illegibility scribbling,,
it was still insufficient for missing was this:

what the world needs a fresh Hobbit triumphal,
where self~sacrifice always come first, and duty rightly prevails, over evil,
always a close call,
and the chill of fall,
the dint of wint-
er
is warmed away by
love,  justice for all,
besting every close call,
and for a replay of the
World Series where them
Yankee underdogs emerge
victorious and the city lifts
its chin, and says OK to the
new day, week, and that
extra hour of…mmm…
daylight
sleep

call me naive,
it is an honorific
terrific,
great fully
accepted