The light mankind has created although useful
has dulled and perhaps even made them blind
to the immaculate beauty of the night sky
and warm rays of sunshine days.
Now, it's not an argument or a condemnation
it is simply a sigh and an accommodation.

Children see life through a different lense,
A creak in the hall could be death.
Imagination stirs their mind to a frenze,
Refusing the body to rest.
Their wild minds consider every option,
While we even critic what we see!
Kids create quite a concoction,
as we dumb it down to the utmost degree.
So is this a pro or a con?
Lets put it as simply as this:
When the robber comes in with a gun,
the kid's under the bed and you're dead!

Everyone’s dead.
But yet some dead are alive.
They become spectators
And stand motionless as life passes by.
They’re the shores of the ocean
Eaten away by the waves,
They’re the leaves of the autumn
Influenced easily to find shelter far, far away.
They’re the rays of the sun
That disappear at night,
But then, they become the darkness
That reminds me of the blindness of their own sight.
Torn apart by forces
they try to find their soul
on a game of hide and seek
they struggle to become one of their own.
They try not to betray themselves
by making sounds in silence
they try to allure the proud white moon
and meekly learn how they can emit some of its brightness

These wandering patrons
Lie asleep all day
With the stillness of night
Clouding their heads

It’s a sunset with no sun
In the sea it’s dead
Been like this for years now
We elect to forget

He was sent to Aldershot for training
He would learn ******* or be killed
The training was all done with broomsticks
When he thought back it made his blood chill.

His unit was sent down to Portsmouth
To board a ship and go over there
It was packed to the gunwales with weapons
And the rations left no room to spare.

He practiced with his rifle on the journey
Like others who’d not held one before
He’d no sense of the horror he’d be facing
Nor the violence he’d always abhorred.

It was such a small piece of shrapnel
Caught both eyes as a shell case shattered
He never saw his two boys as they grew into men
Missing out on so much that had mattered.

His wife who he loved always helped him
And a life with new interests grew
He learnt how to read the braille papers
It pleased him he’d still know the news.

But the trauma from the experience scarred him
And ire with politics grew by the day
So he took to his new odd braille keyboard
And wrote articles and letters to complain.

He could sense the new way that the wind blew
In the corridors of power in the House
There was money to be made in new weapons
And politicians ignore those who grouse.

Then again two decades later it started
Another war that would mean more dead men
The obscenity rose like a bile in his throat
So once again he took to his ‘pen’.

©JRW2014