Vestiges
Through jeep trails,
And mountain ranges,
Littered with the ore of miner’s ambitions,
I seek a place:
A piece of Earth not scorched by the obsessiveness of hate,
But a calm that drips full of honey,
And brims sweetly of nectar whose bite is tender and subduing,
I sleep during the summer noons,
On logs wiser than I;
Sap glues the sweat of a hundred men to the same condition:
The condition of escape and wonder,
Of redemption,
Of past glories memorialized over sagging guts and wobbled knees,
And the revelation that a satisfying brew surrounded by souls isn’t a time machine.
Now the moon has come out to play,
I sit swayed by the taunting breeze,
As mud hugs my shabby and assaulting boots , I think:
I want to create beautiful things,
Precious and delicate,
Breathing and contorting,
Inspired and reverting.
War Poems 