The Old Man Speaks Of War

I’ve seen a war approach before
and know how it made me feel;
I crackled with murky energy,
learned how to burn
and how to dodge burning.

I have gone to war before
and adored how it made me move;
I ran forward, stopped short,
cleaned and leaned upon my weapon, 
swallowed my fear,
freed the Evil in my hands.

I’ve come home from war before
and sat for hours staring into clouds,
drinks, eyes, mirrors, carved stones
and Tarot cards. It never felt like home
again, no matter what fortune told.

And now, here comes a war again;
I have no body to offer it; my hands can’t hold,
my feet won’t charge; 
my heart’s all for it
but my skin holds me back; 
if I had a child,

I’d offer it up to war:
I’d weep and wail but also,
I’d see that kid as my arm, my hand
stretched out to touch the old energy: 
cross my heart and hope to never die.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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