They dance and flutter,
like leaves on the breeze.
They ribbon ’round the May pole
and under the Harvest Moon.

Oh, those reminiscent days…
when life was simple,
and love was all you needed…

How I love you,
my yesteryears.
How you glow
with prideful colors.

Your pages whisper words unspoken by your lips
while lacking the language softly spoken by your curves
whose depth falls short of your thoughtfulness
which could never compare to your simple honesty.

My friend lost a child,
a little brown-eyed girl.
The people mourned with them,
and brought flowers over,
and shared in their tears.

Every year they visit her grave
to honor her memory.

My friend lost his business,
a little grocery store.
The people called him weak,
and mocked him incessantly,
and he cried himself to sleep.

He hung himself last year;
no one brought flowers.

Ere the midnight creeps on by,
ere the storm comes blowing by,
ere my dreams traverse the sky,

ere exhaustion shuts my eye.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The smithy’s hammer
and burning forge
shaping iron
into blades
into mail
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The fact’ry hammers
and fact’ry workers
shaping steel
into ships
into tanks
into war.

Thunder, thunder,
raining down.
The assembly line
and machinery
shaping plastic
into chips
into bombs
into death.

The future loomed beyond the horizon
like an angry, unknown god
through whom all roads must pass.

The empty chair waits,
but it does not wait alone
for hungry plates and untarnished silverware
sit by sets of thirsty glasses
at place settings who ring tables
echoing with the half-remembered laughter
of a family that gave up long ago.

I’ve long-since found
my happiness in things:
bigger and better,
novel and new.

Now I find myself
lamenting the absence
of meaningful things
like friends and confidants.

The few I’ve found
have wilted in my hands
until all that remains
are silence and an echo.

All of the “Why?”s haunt me
from my quiet phone and calendar.