Humanity, War, and Genocide
Once There Was a Soldier
Once there was a soldier.
He walked ‘cross frozen seas.
Seas of blood, seas of fire.
Waves of thunder, waves of cries.
He crossed great voids of death…
He watched warriors fall
And children come forward.
Children who wanted to be adults
Boys who yearned to be men.
He watched the pale horse
Gallop them afar
Whispering tales of heroism,
To the fiery hell on the horizon.
He saw the crows peck at their bodies
The dogs tear at their bones.
Once there was a soldier
Who crossed a void of men.
Come
Look, come and see
The sky is set alight!
The wise old earth trembles,
Down smash pillars of stone.
The river flows black
The cool water burns.
On the rushing current rests
The bones of countrymen,
And beside them rot
The flicker of humanity.
Can you hear the guns roar,
And the sky itself scream?
Come, my eager warrior,
Into the fires of Hell.
Fell On Deaf Ears
They cried for reform
They cried for acceptance—
But the words fell on deaf ears.
Their voices were stolen,
Snatched away by hands of oppression
They cried to their neighbors,
“Help us, help us, please!”—
Their pleas fell on deaf ears.
Marched from their homes
At the tip of a gun,
They asked, begging:
“Where do you take us?”
Yet the questions fell down
Upon ears of stone.
Soldiers razed their families
As they wandered amidst death—
Mothers screamed out, “Not my children!”—
But their cries fell on deaf ears.
Humanity and Destiny
Fate Is Calling
The moon shines down
Upon the rails, shining, shining
The windows are dark
On the clanking freight—
I hear the cry of my fate.
Others stir dimly beside me
Their breath escaping into mist;
The children wave goodbye,
Swinging by the tire swing—
My fate beckons to me.
Destiny winds the bend
Drawing to and fro ever nearer,
Alongside the wooded planks
Flows the wild river—
I heed the cry of my fate.
A Question That Won’t Be Answered
I have a question that dogs my mind
A question that stalked since beginning of time—
It burns in my thoughts,
A red inferno of my conscience—
Why are lives of good people fraught
With sadness, despair, grief and pain
Whilst the ignorant and hateful and greedy
Live without anguish, judgment and shame?
Why, may I ask? What have we done?
What have we done so horribly wrong?
Humanity and the world
Crossing Borders
What if I was born
On the other side?
This world may be all I know,
But must it be that way?
They tell me to love
The flag of Red, White and Blue
But the colors of White, Blue and Red
Are beautiful to me, too.
Must I revere the Rockies
Of the Wild West?
Why not love Red Sea
Between titan masses?
What is a nation’s flag
But a colorblind judgment?
From heavenly stars you see
There are no borders
Between you and me.
Who Are You, Stranger
Who stands hither
‘Cross chasm of green?
Who are you stranger,
Standing at your post?
Are you a savage—
Come to destroy my hovel?
Are you a thief—
To spirit away my bread
In a rainy night,
Void of moon’s light?
Are you, stranger
An enemy of mine—
Is that why you dare
To cross the bristling line?
Who are you, stranger?
Your eyes never leave me.
Be you a man
Who fears the lonely night?
Who are you, stranger—
Man who wanders beyond fields?
His feet still entrenched
In his native soil—
But mind wanders, free—
To wonderful worlds
It so yearns to see.
Humanity and Nature
Back When There Was Ice
Back when there was ice
The leaves stuck to puddles
Huddled up in freezing crevices—
Ancient oaks bore claws
That shed forth crystal tears
And the winter fairies twirled
Plummeting from castles above.
The nymphs of the forest
Uttered no sound or song
Creeks winding between stones
Made no whisper nor murmur.
Warmth glowed from golden windows
Candles burned on weary tables.
Pines bent in merciless blast
The robin shivered at his perch.
Fairies cloaked his red in white
They suffocated the tired land.
Back when there was ice
A fire cackled in the dark.
An old hound dozed
By its welcoming warmth
Soothing his croaking bones.
Beside him sat a child
Who spun great tales of heroes
Heroes who did great evil—
Villains who did great good—
Back when there was ice.
Puddle
The puddle is a puddle
In our own eyes
But to the ant,
The puddle is an ocean.
Forest
You are kind.
You are ruthless.
You are safe
But glinting with danger.
Yet you judge me not.
Your gentle wise oaks
Standing firm and strong
Shelter me from
The biting wind,
And your sparkling streams
Guide me home at night.
Humanity, Sexuality, and Gender Identity
They Have, They Say, They Do
I live in the dark,
Behind a closet door.
They scorn me, hate me,
They call me foul.
They say I cannot love,
That I am just pretend.
They kick me down stairs
And tie me to the fence.
Their feet heave my gut,
Their words wound my ears.
And then they have
The audacity to say
“Did you choose
To be gay?”
Straight Lines
When I was seven
I never could
Draw a straight line.
My teacher said,
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine
All lines become
Straight in the end.”
Ten years go by
I still can’t draw
Them straight lines.
The haters gonna hate,
To them I always say:
“Hey, I’m so gay
I can’t even draw straight!”
My Son
I remember what you said
When the teacher asked you,
“What do you want to be
When you grow up?”
And you answered,
“I want to be a boy.”
They called you Samantha,
But you were Samson.
You wore ripped jeans,
And a muddy T-shirt.
You trekked through the hall
In muddy, worn sneakers
The day’s finds clenched
Inside your scratched up fist.
You rode your bike
Through the green woods,
Down old deer trails
And over fallen logs,
‘Cross gurgling streams into gullies.
Into the thicket you plunged,
Across fields you flew—
Your knees scraped,
But your spirit happy.
You were assigned my daughter,
But deep within your soul’s depths
You were my son.
The kids at school called you
“Tranny and crossdresser, faggot”
They saw only outside,
Not what lingered unlocked.
The labyrinth of suffering
Trapped you in its claw-holds.
You knew not where to turn;
The monsters grew bold—
They ripped at your wrists
And finally conquered your life.
They laid you to rest
On the bloodied floor
Of our tiled bathroom.
Now I morn you
Not a daughter, but a son.
Not as Samantha, but Samson.
My Samson.
I love you, Samson.