will never

those who sit and stare at the
final fading flannel making dark the
trees before it;
thoses who listen to Bach
in the early fall night air and put on
one more jacket do not,

cannot find the war in all
of this beauty.
beneath the fall cut grass, blades
of all stilted vary, there is not gun moans
or blood comings. there is soil.

rich moist life mouth opened and fresh sac split.

those who cannot tell the difference between
a muskrat and a beaver as it swims,
head back and bottom feet swirling through
the small pond, but discuss it with fervor
and the sounds of frogs reaching;
those who cook food for their friends
or for the simple pleasures of
life, hands in, the fire stoked carefully,
do not

can never
stab in the throat some man or boy
of opposite shade and prayer mat
or make them ash.
they will never accept the light of
fake sun or the drive of for score horses
in exchange for the loss of will.

those who embrace each day with the tencity of
seasons changing (seasons change);
those who drink from full tumblers
cannot

will never make dying mouths weep into earth.
they will never destroy to create.

those who read the words from old volumnes
learn from the lines and will not repeat them
in plagiristic death marches.

atrocities cannot be foregone conclusions
begging to yield into polotics and rhetoric
and burning trees to stop the fires.
they must never.

Back to Author List

Back to Dan's Samples