Georg was an afterthought
Of a short metal round.
Which Pierced him in the ear,
Beside his holy crown.
“What luck,” he thought as the
Blood ran thick.  “Only half
Of this war I will hear—
Only half will exist.”
He stood half in the dark
Hearing only one side
Of the war.  He heard the
Cries of his enemy.
The tongue seemed forlorn,
But the message was one:
Befallen was no country,
No province had been won,
Not a yard would be gained,
For war is deaf, blind, and dumb.

The million dollar war, and a penniless soul
Become entrapped in an ephemeral state.
Reality is not his father’s cold brewery,
Reality is the burning, fermented sweat
Which singes his eyes.  “Salute” rang
The officer, as the crowd looked on.
Georg fell in line to salute his soul away
To a reality of misconstrued differences.
A moment of bombastic glory rang out in his ears,
As he began to carry what his father had bestowed on him.
He didn’t realize, or did not conceive,
The sound of the months following.
The bombs of the months following did not ring.
The bombs were quiet—
A silent brigade of destruction.

A young heart blisters raw with war,
And a young mind wonders nevermore.
A young man stands upon the hinge of glory,
And a young man fights his history.
A young body ails in the pouring rain,
And a young body weeps with cold estrange.
A young spirit is condemned to death,
As a young spirit bears the cross of the rest.

love.
The knife rests on the counter.
Her freshly chopped hair
Feels so estranged.
A healing process
That seems to cut more than give.
Black eyeliner fresh to her skin;
Only worn after –
Never before.
Light flicks to her ear.
Her father’s gift of an earring
Ripped away.
A long ribbed scar
Of the letter “A” behind her ear
From a singed lighter burn.
The color was grey,
But it burned scarlet in her heart.
Impressionist choke lines ran across her throat
From her unwanted suitor.
Biting her lips with pain,
She felt a ruby red rawness.
Salvador Dali’s black lipstick
Twisted open to bleed
memories into mirrors.
Impulsive strokes of darkness filled the glass
With a diminished, backwards word
About a diminished and backwards girl,
She finished titling someone else’s art.
The gritty glass gleamed—
evol.

The wind diverges the horizon boughs
into view finders of royal blue.
The flicker of the blue beyond washes to
brown sticks fettered with dry leaves.
Oh what cadence ensues,
From a bent bough and a
Sifting wind?  
If that limb but a will,
And that breeze but a pulse,
Harmony would hide in the
Heartbeat of an eternal summer.
Yet eternity suffers sterile sadness,
And cadence breeds a timid tempo
Of hollow trees against a grey sky.
So speak the world in discord,
Unveil blue skies from cacophonous trees of green,
And push the wind in hurricanes.
As wind and bough dance in perfect imbalance,
I admire the flicker of their countenance.

Miles Apart, and still miles left to go—
You seem so far away, yet you feel so close.
Hearts which beat at a separate pace,
And minds that wander so,
Are linked to love through destiny,
Changing as they go.
If our paths must split,
And you find another road,
I wish you love that is true—
Not one that is faux.
Still I will walk my separate road;
Passing fate’s fickle mistress as I go.
I sing a song with a familiar tone
As I wave to her a sweet hello.
I stop and stare in her endless eyes,
And say thank you for my wonderful life.
Fate stared back at me
With a welcome to the end,
And I saw in her eyes
My young beautiful friend.
She had walked a road which I had once known—
The road I reminisce to with miles left to go.
I imagined her hand in mine as we took a long walk
The past echoed in harmony though we dared not talk
Then fate whispered to me that it was finally time to go,
So I took my lover to be, and we walked the final road—
A finite infinity of love we had once known.
Her hand back in mine—love was finally home.

Ohio valley in the sun,
We are the broken ones.
Rays of fools gold
Crease your hills
Of walking regrets
And stagnant thrills.
Oh you—Ohio valley in the sun.
Highways to nowhere
Run through your land
Of imprisoned visionaries
And the dreaming man
Oh you—Ohio Valley in the sun
What did we do to deserve this numb?
Oh you—Ohio valley in the sun.