Our Dreams Are Born in Poetry

so often 
we are thwarted
by disparity 
the things 
we have believed in
and the things
that we have seen

the dream is not
forgotten in the
fight to find our way,
but the will is 
often weakened
when injustice
rules the day

the heart 
indeed may stutter
when the bloom falls
from the rose;
but our dreams
are born in poetry,
and our lives are
lived in prose

the secret to
a dream come true
is holding tight
to will;
knowing that
what is can change
and dreams
they cannot kill!

Rocking Chair Regret

here I sit with
tired eyes, 
slackening hands,
and an aching déjà vu

no longer a young recruit
in the struggle for what should be;
now I am nothing but a witness
to the battle that never dies

a lifetime ago
we fought to be heard -
if only we had learned
to listen!

so, the rocking chair
sways with regret and
the wheels on the bus
go 'round and 'round

No Voice

how can we say
to the ones who’ll carry
the weight of the future
that past events are truly history
when we keep walking the same damned road

how do we look at ourselves
and not weep the tears
of the damned knowing
we’re leaving our children
a legacy of war, hatred, and division

how do we stem the tide
of this death march and
restore the joy of childhood,
the preciousness of life,
and the freedom to live and love
according to the song in each priceless soul

how do we once again
bless the beasts and the children
and redeem the days for
those who have no idea
what lie in store for them?