Conversations.

Trippers and takers ask me
I weigh each word
Taking my time to score
them into my flesh,
Where is this going?
What do they want?

Such distrust has deep roots
long watered by adversity's
Downpours, long and hard
Real or fancied, I don't know.
Battles and horrors of news
Apart from the face before me.

Not be abased again,
Swiftly arose and spread around
Me, A safety net
Promise of my own
I cast in praxis,
Limitless drooping leaves

A kelson of me is love
Buried deep in the field of stones
Apart and hauling to remove them.
Shall I postpone my answer
Until I can accomplish it?
Will remain complacent?

Sadness is my change of garment
A matted, torn red cloth
I air at night in the stars' faces
Donn in the morning light,
Fresh to tears again,
But still covered with debris.

I'm an old soldier,
And I tell the stories they despise.
Everyone turns away
Telling of my bombardment
At the hands of anger
His wrath hurled at me.

I take part in each sound,
coursing through my thoughts
Each shot across the bow,
Well aimed and planned
Waiting to see if I'll strike colors
Surrender and drop anchor.

Enough!  To hear more words
Is to slumber my own dreams
Handcuff my thoughts
To your wagon of hopelessness
Send it careening down hate's hill
A tumbled clutter of twisted wood and metal.

I can't call one word
Greater or smaller
Taste the spices of it
Without feeling the sting.
Where is this going?
What do they want?
 

Dave