FUNERALS OF HOPE
In these funerals, we see through these streams
Of tears, amidst trembling lips and truncated faith
But, yes, we are still hopeful.
Dark feelings, as intricate as a billion knots
As abstract as an ocean’s journey to a well.
And oh yes! Hope remains our name
A giant metal bird missed her nest,
Perched on rambling hot stones and walls
Spilling eggs of virile dreams; dreams of hope.
From these funerals, we have built puddles
Of tears after chills from chaotic chants.
But from these puddles we muddled hope
LAST AIR DUTY
(for Captain Peter Waxton)
Your fair tales resound across Earth:
Vignettes of your bravery,
Gold medals from your chest of courage.
Gentle in deed and duty
But, should we call this destiny?
This souvenir of distorted memories,
Like broken lines into space.
How that early June,
Diligence called you; a black call of weighty
Message. Its weight Bringing down tons in a
Twinkle. But, who are we to embark on a journey
Of answers? What gain is in a blame game?
Calmly, we’ll sit, waiting after wails, as these
Tears clean our land.