Your eyes are telling a tale
Everywhere you go

Your steps are making rhythms
silent and slow

Your head was never high
Nor does your voice

Every tremble of your hands
Every quiver on your lips
I know.

And through the night
We will fight
We pray to see the next dawns light
Caught in trenches huddled tight
Our brotherly blight
The enemy's spite
To return to sons and fathers
To hold our mothers and daughters
To see freedom never fade
This is why tonight we pray

When I lay upon my bed, I pray.
When I awaken in the dawn, I pray.
My comfort is found in my prayer.
When my time has come and my days are ended,
then, and only then, I will stop praying.
For my prayer has finally been answered.

I want to have a body
that matches my mind

The landscape blurs often
as poets go about their business
crafting metaphors of unexpected delight
in forests of jangled words and visuals
unable to contain their excitement
at having conquered that crystallised
moment of love, hate and everything else
in a frozen sliver of time
inescapable from their minds excursion
into unknown unshaped lands.

Not all succeed in this endeavour
most try, few unable
to melt the metal in a crucible of colour
sound, taste or touch, to smell
emphasis and cocktail curiosity
bringing the best to the fore.

The newcomers tremble at the awe
of maestros watching their work
and dissolve in disasters.
There is the odd one that unknowingly
write splendid poetry
and when noticed and heaped with praise
often springboard into showcasing talent.

Reading the works of the masters
is always good. If they think it
is good then it must be good.
So many footsteps to follow and learn.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Life has hurt
It is hurt
But life isn't about the pain
It's about healing