Once There Was a Soldier

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.