we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

I have a desperate need
to be away from here
but if I cannot be with you
there is nowhere to go

the voices said
there's nothing like
waking up deep into the night
and not hearing any voices

and I believed them

Remember brother we didn't play with toys
we were two little toy soldiers
on two sides of the cold war
crawling on elbows and knees
in the backyard with a blackberry tree
firing at each other with invisible guns
our mouths echoing the rat-tat of bullets
and it was not blood that soaked us
but drops of heavily falling rains
upon soil long parched by the heat
exuding smell of love all over the wind
when the two would roll over each other
escaping from a war with no real enemies
pleading i'm wounded, don't shoot me.

We don't play wars any more brother
the cold war is long over
and we stopped being not enemies.

take my hand and don’t let go
hold God’s hand with your other
give no attention to what you hear
it is only murmurs of lies
words which are of no substance
the sounds of phantoms
they want to destroy you
to cause unbearable pain
to everyone you love
do not listen
please


do not let go with either hand
so that you cannot take
the hand of Death
when it is offered