More Poetry

Whispers of War

The whispers on the breeze

of a past long forgotten make me shiver.

The battlefield of old, now just a field of grass

where no farmer tills.

The soil shows no sign of the blood

that seeped though its dusty grains

and stained it with a loss of life I can only begin to imagine.

The corpses have long since been removed

or buried in mass graves,

to be visited only by

those few who yearn to feel the loneliness

of the ghosts left behind, waiting for

a peace that seems long in coming.

The trees scarred by the weaponry of man

have died and rotted and been consumed.

They have disappeared as though they never were,

just as many of the boys and men

who once marched through the beautiful wildflowers

to their own violent demise.

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Queens of the Forest

The graceful oak

overshadows the humble dandelion

while a sneaky little vine winds around its

scarred trunk and swaying branches.

A seemingly permanent aspect of the forest

yet it dies a tiny fraction of a molecule with every

passing minute.

The previous behemoths now lay as tumbled rotting heaps

of twisted limbs and moss covered logs,

reminding the living that they will not remain for long.

Every winter’s temporary death

is one season closer to the final swaying

of a majestic Queen of the forest

as she begins her devastating plunge,

taking all who stand in her path with her,

demonstrating her power even in her final moments

of life.

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Laughter

Laughter

Can be like the tinkling of a wind chime

bringing joy and beauty to the world.

But it has a darker side.

Laughter can strip the hardest heart

of happiness and well-being.

It can cause more pain than the

sharpest edge on tender flesh.

It has the power to rule

to maim

to destroy.

It all depends on why you’re laughing.