I live but never die
I am an American born free here.
I live here and I will not die here.
I am a solider now for my country.
I have fought in many wars.
Along side my brothers and sisters.
I fought for freedom for you and many more.
I live but I will not die.
I may get killed in battles not won.
But I will not die.
I will live forever in the minds of those that know me.
I will live on the lips of those that only know my name.
But I will not die for i'm a hero to all Americans
For I'm A solider forever known.

Christmas with Christ
I was setting on a hillside late Christmas eve.
Not saying a thing to anyone.
When a man came up along side of me and sat down.
We sat there for hours and said nothing.
The moon went and the sun came up.
The man stood and started to walk away.
Then he turns and said someday there will be world peace.
Then he left.
I thought to myself that had to be Christ.
For this is Christmas and he would have only known.What was on my mine.

~

her tranquil surface abruptly awakened;
well-cast fly by rainbow taken.

~

*post script.

that moment when the rest of the world wakes up.  (hyphenated words count as only one, right?),

Leave your slippers at the counter
said the watchman at the gate
an empty sack I put them in
entered temple on bare feet.

The walls were carved in fine granite
idols beamed in marbled shine
incense filled the ethereal light
breathing the air was purely divine.

After about a charmingly spelled hour
in lithe spirit I came out of temple door
presented the token at the shoes counter
poured the sack's content on the floor.

A strange pair mockingly looked back
not mine I shouted at the top of my voice
rows of sacks stared back from the rack
home barefoot wasn't a prospect to rejoice.

Obviously a wrong token was issued to me
the slippers therein belonged to someone else
and there I was arguing awkwardly
cursing high pitch over temple bells.

It took five minute's terror to find them out
so my feet could kiss the familiar smell
though not much something to write home about
those were the moments paradise felt hell.

You made a poet fall in love with you
And expected her not to write sonnets about your eyes
Haikus about the way you kissed her in the moonlight
Expected the fire in her heart not to inspire couplets
You made a poet fall in love with you, and when you left
Expected her not to write pages about the ache in her chest
Write a soliloquy dedicated to her tears
Expected her not to feel every gut wrenching moment of the pen hitting paper like your words hit her in the most vulnerable places of her mind.
You made a poet fall in love with you, and you expected her to be silent.
That is no fault of hers.

The absence of stillness is time. Time and stillness cannot coexist. Time is never your present for as you spell your very moment, it has already become your past. Make haste or sleep, but do not waste the energy of "unstill", you owe it to Nature.