Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

she walked

foot on each crack in the sidewalk
the heel of her boot
sinking

and then her skin peels away
turpentine wiping away
the painting that is her mask

and she walked

she crumbled
her bones dust

come back
you've gone too far, little girl

the wind blows her away
the sun cremates her memory

and she is born again in the rain
sprouting from between
the cracks in the sidewalk

and she walked

I find it so interesting
to think about hands.

to think that the same hands that guide, nurture
a loved one
could be used to beat, break,
abuse
another weak, fragile
human.

to think that the same hands that cooked pancakes
for his mother on her birthday
could be used to build a bomb to
******
the recipient of someone else's
breakfast.

to think that the same hands the hold yours so tight,
a lifeline to this drowning me
are used just hours later to tear, cut, burn,
destroy
the skin and bones you say you
adore.

to think that the same hands we use
for love and compassion
are so easily misused for
evil
and that no matter what our hands have touched, they will always look the
same.

The knife was too short; it just missed my heart.
Well, that was a reality check.....

I wish the same for
You too.