Love has no memory
Save of itself, resisting
Intrusion into any realities
Beyond its senses,
Denying the existence of anything
Inviolate to the sanctity of
Its treasured illusions and delusions.
Pleasant memories; no confusions
Nor doubts about how beautiful,
How sweet it really was--

Love has only the memory of
How things should have been.

Vows broken
Fidelity compromised
Trust undermined
Love betrayed
Time heals
Forgetting a blessing
Remembering the torture
Anger subsides
Pain lingers
Bitterness resides
Rings off fingers
Interests wane
Desires gone
Losing sleep
Losing weight
Losing focus
Losing drive
Energy low
Where to go
What went wrong
Why
All not lost
Will not cry
Will pray
Will soon pass
Will live
To love again.

He was only one, that day,
Standing alone to fill and gap the breech.  
No one else, but he, stood to face the onslaught,
The terror that charged forward,
Toward where he stood and held his post,
Where someone before had drawn a long line on the ground.
No one there to help, all had fled,
Intimidated by the imposing, closing threat
That was coming near.
All, but he, had run, and the time and the foe drew closer;
Making a last stand was not even on his mind,
Resisting was not a choice,
He would do what he could,
What must be done, until he could do no more.
Death took the defender that day,
But not easily.  
He fought until he had no more blood to shed,
With a final gasp, onto a bloodied ground he, at last,
Fell dead.
His enemies, his foes, stood in awe,
At the red-stained, battered corpse,
With sword still in hand.
After much deliberation,
The horde decided to turn and leave.  
If this one, lone sentry had courage such as this,
How much more an entire army that probably laid in wait.
Tactical retreat was the best option, and,
With that they turned about,
They left to conquer other lands.

His comrades came; took his body;
Pinned medals across his chest;
Said a few words reserved for heroes, and
Laid him to rest.
They glanced into the distant, disappearing dust and thought,
What cowards they must have been
To have let one lone soldier frighten them such
That they turned away.

There was only one, that day,
Standing alone to fill and gap the breech;
One soldier who stood the watch,
Who did not retreat.  

Armies are made of
One soldier at a time.

For sins of time long past
And wounds that would not heal;
Old hurts from yesterday,
The pain still sharp and clear,
He sought redemption and forgiveness
From a God he did not hear.
He found peace in contrition
Now there is no fear.

Listen to my song
As I  tell you
Why I cry.
Listen to the melody
And you will feel
A sigh.
Listen to the refrain,
Echoes, memories,
Times gone by.
Listen to the notes,
The highs and lows,
Asking why.

I cry and sigh
My days gone by
And wonder why—
This is my song.

I am the *****,
The hideous, maimed, disfigured--
You look at me with frowns.
My skin, with many tones,
Too scarred and blotched--
Always offensive to your eye.
You laugh at me,
I am one of your many clowns--
Sent to earth for your amusement.
You view me like a sinner--
God punished me and spared you.
I am the oddity, not quite right,
A freak of nature,
A distortion of the Creator’s beauty,
A sacrilege to your righteous self.  
I am the mold by which you judge
All imperfection.  
I am an outcast, an infidel, a curse,
An illegitimate child of heaven sent
As image of what you could have been--
Cast into the world to be
Looked at as half-human,
Made to feel less than whole, and
Knowing I will never be even a part.
My afflictions are your blessings,
My pain, your joy,
My tears, your happiness.
In me, you have a reason to be thankful.
Yes, I am the ***** and this I know for sure:
My fate was to be different;
My destiny unfolds, but not before
Your prying eyes; and
Most of all, I find great joy
Knowing that regardless my plight,
I will be always be me and
Never be like you.

Standing there and observing from afar,
Life on the Earth is difficult, I must report,
Explaining, in part, why many lives are
Full of constant complaint and retort.

Anguish is obvious, but the Buddhists say,
Pain is natural and only part of life;
They preach one proceeds along a Way
Strewn with joy and with strife.

I would hold with another teaching
Of the Buddha:
One creates their own suffering most times,
Never searching inside a self
That can make all things known.

This, and more, I heard some mention.
My documentation points to inattention
To important things in life like recognition
Of Nature's gifts that receive little attention.

I have seen from prolonged observation
There is really much to appreciate,
Yet, most spend time cursing creation
Filled with anger and lamenting fate.

Great Spirit, my recommendations are inside
This brief that I humbly submit.
The evidence is clear, nothing to hide:
Humanity is a hopeless case, I now admit.

The extent of their evil is hard to believe,
Many even resort to killing in God's name.
That they possess promise is hard to conceive,
Violence, mayhem, and carnage are more their fame.

If latent good could yet emerge
I might well argue let them continue.
But, they are a lost cause, so, I urge
Transform the world into something new.

Yes, I recommend you start anew,
Let birds or lizards dominate, give them a try.
Whether the human species lives or dies is up to you,
Though while alive; Earth will moan and Nature cry.