The passage of time has been most unkind,
On reflection it moves me to tears.
It occurs to me though
that it has to be so,
We’ve been killing each other for years.

Bald tree in snow

black mast contrasted

with a sea of whitecaps

frozen at the crest.

The cold wind stirs no sails;

leaves long since fallen.

Awaits spring resurrection

from its rest.

Poetry is the currency of the kindred soul

No quarter for the stranger given.

Quality aside it finds its company.

A motley assortment of thinkers and fools.

The sword unseen is not a sword until the stroke.

Anticipation cutting long before the blade.

Bleeding dry the will,

Casting shadows at noon.

I would reclaim the day while I might have it.

Every clearing has a purpose,

said the hammer to the saw.

You’ve done well in your undoing

and I can’t detect a flaw.

From these stands you’ve set asunder

such a structure we will build

that the eyes of man will face us

and away from what we’ve killed.