Clad in Colors Woodland
Clad in colors woodland
dappled shade
he approached
eyes withering
'what do you do'
asked i
'i am a soldier,'
he replied,
'i pick up my rifle
i aim it
i shoot men
and
they die...
and how do you
earn your
bread?"
i responded to his honesty
with my own:
'i am a poet,
i search for the lies
men tell themselves
to rationalize their
misery;
i pick up my pen
i write,
i kill their delusions'
for a moment there was
silence
and when his tired eyes met mine
we wept together
in bitter equality.
Written by michael todd [weasel130@hotmail.com]
