In some long marriages
the couples complete
each others sentences

In all others
each serves their own.

Pen and Ink, which was your sword
to keep the Demons held at bay.
I remember how you calmed the Tempest
When King was murdered and hate held sway.
Wisdom borne of suffering then
You knew first hand of what I speak:
Of pain that drips, drop by drop
Upon our hearts while we yet sleep.
Then, barely two months afterward,
When your brother’s legacy seemed in your grasp,
An assassin’s bullets pierced your brain
And your night of Triumph became your last.

On this cold November night
Salman Rushdie shook my hand.
An irate Ayatollah had
pronounced a fatwa on the
man

He seemed at peace, this hirsute fellow.
in his bespoke suit from Savile Row.
He signed some copies of his book
then his security man said he must go..

The lecture hall had been half full.
Perhaps some had been scared away.
I had come to hear him speak.
Freedom of speech must rule the day.

Outside  Colden in the dark
an amphitheater is tucked away
A stage sunk in a bowl of grass
where Greek tragedies  might be played.

Which tradition shall prevail?
I wondered to myself that day.
Will acolytes of a murderous cult
Sweep Euripides away?

A Moslem horde  poured through the gates
when Rome fell  for the second time.
The Divine Wisdom was defiled
and Constantine Palaeologus died.

I turn my collar against the damp
illumined by sodium vapor light
I think on Arnold's loss of faith
and ignorant armies that struggle in the
night

They are but shades who once were men.
We shall not see their like again.
Stonewall Jackson, Grant and Lee,
Men of courage, Men of faith,
honorable men from an honorable age.
In the chapel at Fort Hamilton
They met and prayed.
Let no man mute their story.

Perhaps they prayed
That their cup would pass
And that the Union would endure.
Their cup, brimming full with blood.
Would not pass,
Until every drop shed by slave was matched
By blood a soldier shed
But the Union would endure.
Let no man deny their glory.

Robert E. Lee at Fredericksburg
"It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it."

Abraham Lincoln (2nd Inaugural)… “Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

Mine eyes have seen the statues being torn down from their plinths
erasing our shared history at the Citizens expense
those who rewrite the past commit a grave offense

when Truth is trampled on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
The Truth is trampled on.

Soon they’ll revise the history books and omit the civil war.
Our Youth won’t have to learn about the “lost cause” anymore                                                                                                                  
To tell the truth about the past will be against the law

then  truth is trampled on.

There was once a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel,
"Six hundred thousand had to die before our land could heal;"
When a Hero, born of woman, crushed Rebellion with his heel
When God was marching on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
The Truth is trampled on.

I have heard the trumpets echo die; its absence makes me weep
I see Marse Robert join the rest upon the ******* heap
He who was skilled in victory and gracious in defeat-

This history must live on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

This history must live on.

They are forever here together, they shared a common fate.
Here are they, the first to fall, and those who perished late.
Some were slaughtered at Khe San, Others died at Hue.
All came home through Dover, buried in their native clay.
They are our older brothers who fought as brave Marines.
There are sons and fathers here and far too many teens.
Fifty Eight thousand names inscribed in ebony writ bold.
Time passes and the memories fade; their stories go untold.
I see my grey reflection as my fingers touch the wall
Across the years I think of one, so young, who gave his all.

Liam had come to see the birds, and to hear a favorite song.
Just eighteen, he was facing stiff exams.
A night off from his studies couldn’t do him that much harm.
He’d thought that- but he couldn’t be more wrong.

He’d counted himself Lucky with a ticket near the stage.
Inside the darkened stadium, where decibels run high,
He’d just met up with Anna; a big Ariana fan.
Both soon would suffer for a madman’s rage.

The bomber was just twenty two, a loner uninvited.
He waited till the star was done, striking as the house was lighted.
Police found Liam dead and Anna, bleeding, beside him.
Liam’s bloodied tee shirt read: Manchester United.