Its been a long evening, the helicopters
Are our angels, as they descended from the sky
Lit with flares and fighter jets and the air
Was pierced by the shouts of men dying
Bearing the flags that were theirs, burning
Those that were not.

Our heroes are laid out now, a number
That is unfortunate and a heavy weight
Which clamps around my heart as I
Salute the coffins and the world, the nation
And the public.

Every day has been the same for weeks,
I walk to the fields where living men fought
Wasting away, in anger, fear, violence
But if the Republic is avenged,
And our people are proud of the bloodlust
Here, so be it.

*Meanwhile, the Corporal whispers,
"Goodnight, Sir"

As I walk through the door,
Auden tells me to turn off the lights,
I dismantle the moon, put out the stars
But I wish he hadn't left.

The boys have had a break,
Marvellous weather, glorious sunshine,
We've got orders, commands, letters
From home, letters from friends, pens
Have written odes to our memory.

We have been forsaken for so long
That the enemy now seems like
A friend in the dark, a companion in the mornings,
The artillery shells are like the staccato rings
Of the Alarm clock that I left on the shelf.

Duty is, but a byword now,
When the flags of our fathers weigh too much,
Our backs are burdened by the dead companions
We intend to bring back home.

We may meet once,
but our paths are changed forever.

Dewdrops are the testimony of
Nature, rejuvenating everything, always

Long were the hours then, full of anger,
I sat on my broken throne, a reminder of my defeat,
like a shattered dream, my heart in pieces,
and my mind still in flames.

In my dreams, psychedelic promises of freedom flower,
like battered gardens in a battlefield,
I could have gone anywhere, and escaped,
but I longed for a sign that never came.

I looked at the concrete horizon, in anger,
blinded by my words, deafened by my pain,
I was wounded, bruised, battered, and bleeding,
each drop of blood bore silent testimony.

I longed for freedom, I thrashed at the chains,
that bound me there, I despaired, i looked up to the sky,
I found no stars, an empty darkness,
opened its jaws at my shame.

I broke free one day, I ran,
my legs carried me farther,
than my mind could have ever imagined,
and my wounds no longer hurt,
I was no longer bleeding,
in my dreams, promises were flowering in springtime.

I ran all my life, I was existing once but I was running then,
Finally, exhausted, I stop, still walking, there are no shadows,
behind me is my prison, my mind is still frozen on suffering,
Psychedelic promises of Love, lie shattered here,
Love was the sign that never came,
it was a promise of rain, but all was dark in my heart,
All I am left with, is a pocket of loose change,
and a kiss from Time, like a shooting star on a dark sky.

Time comes again with that fatal kiss,
but I am still searching for the shore,
Walking so hard, that fatigue, burns my flesh,
The shadows have gone, but so has the light,
there is nothing to guide me to the Shore.

Still i walked, till I saw the Kite,
the Kite on the Shore, a banner, or freedom,
I walked towards the Kite, there was a string,
that tied it to Earth, as it soared high above,
like the Moon on a clear night,
it was my North Star, my guide,
it was the Key, and the Shore was the gateway,
to my freedom.

I saw the ocean stretch itself till the horizon,
and with Pride, I surveyed the road behind me,
the shadows I left behind,
the trail that I carved was now a blur,
my sufferings were placed like an offering,
on the altar of the eternal freedom
that was the ocean, and the Kite still soared in the dusky sky.

I saw the string that tied it down,
I felt the wind that lifted it up,
I stooped, and broke the string,
and set myself free.

There are poems hidden in the limbs of the willow
Lines of rhyme flow from the music of the wren
Sonnets sit like angels atop clouds resting on hillsides
Waiting to instill those with pen and ink to script lyrics to enlighten
Triolets grow among pink, red and yellow petals of coneflowers

Poetry is the breath of our life, the sustenance of the soul
Wars recalled in verse, memories intended to calm, release the pain
Songs of poetry sing messages cascading from the heart
When gods, or monsters, or disease destroy the planet
The last words, lines forming an elegy, will drift from the debris