Simple

It’s simple

erase,

the loss,

the pain,

that emptiness,

erase it all,

move on,

smile,

laugh,

hide those scars,

behind sleeves,

those bruises,

cover them,

hide it all,

don’t weep

don’t live grief

exposing

us living with pain,

loss,

emptiness,

scars and bruises,

behind

sleeves

in silent caverns

of memory

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Poetry Speaks

Poetry

speaks in tongues

that shine within

the darkening days

dismantling our walls

built upon sands

that shimmer and shake

exposing dragons

in nightmares

revealing scales

thick with grief

A Straight Guy on Pride Day

There I was,

a straight white guy

standing in the midst

of this diversity of people

who were happy,

happy, despite the hate

happy, to give hugs

happy, to hold hands

happy, to kiss and love,

who am I to say they’re wrong

or that they don’t belong,

what does it mean

to be straight anyway,

when really

no one truly is,

so maybe if we look

and see happiness

emerging from people

maybe we’ll find happiness

within ourselves

and the healing we need

Village

Down in the village,

children run

half naked through the streets,

dirty faces smudged,

snot running from red noses,

no one seems to care,

an old lady squats,

fanning the fire under her pot

mouth cherry red

from chewing betel nuts,

next to her stands a boy,

his face half gone

the remains of a uniform

hanging like a limp flag

from his broken body

the cost of madness

of debt never erased

The Outpost

Perimeter lights strain to peer through fog

as night falls,

without a sound.

I look out from my guard post

M-16 held in my hands, its plastic grip cold, unfeeling.

I take one clip, twenty rounds neatly stacked

slam it into its place with a loud click

I think,

can I kill?

Shed the life blood of another?

To pull, no,

squeeze the trigger?

I never envisaged as a kid,

playing soldier in the backyard

shooting at my imagined enemy,

here no bands played

no John Wayne heroics,

no flags fluttering in the breeze,

only the sound of the mini guns and rockets

crashing upon the shore below.

I get the call,

load one round,

HE,

M-79

the words seem distant, coldblooded.

I grab the weapon

an ugly thing,

stout.

With a flick of my thumb,

I unlatch it

it opens wide

as I slip in one round,

oblong shaped,

not even a handful

it slides into place

like a lover at night,

a sharp upward movement

and all’s ready

looking out on the dark perimeter

slowly take a deep breath

exhale

then squeeze,

there is the sharp kick

thump, then wait

wait, wait, wait