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.