The Fields of Poppies

"Flanders Fields, made the appeal"

The fields of poppies use to grow; 

In Flanders Fields, like crimson flag which flows.

The flower of Remembrance among the rows; 

of soldiers who died too young to know.

 

Lest we forget those who’ve fallen long ago; and

The soldiers that survived with minds and souls left torn.

 

One by one they have now passed away; 

they left their lessons to make our own way.

 

So we gather on the day that once pledges to end all wars; 

The Day of Remembrance set on 11th day of the 11th month.

 

We wear the poppy as a symbol on our lapel; 

to never forget…

Those who had blood split; 

to never forget…

 

The tears that their friends and families have shed.

To never forget…

 

The price of freedom that weights too heavy on all our hearts; 

Lest we forget…

 

But how you spend that moment is your choice; 

a choice that may not been earned but given to through sacrifice.

 

So during the moment of silence please remember…

From far and wide they stand on guard for thee.



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Drywood

A cycle from caption to publish, will bring forth new forum

Neglected in all my years;
Growth of knotted admiralty.
Rain saturates roots,
washing away tears.
Standing alone;
Forget what beauty means.
Things that left our hearts.
It seems, through drought comes the floods.
Parched lips, hungry hips overwhelmed
Up to our knees in love, bled.
Bathe in our longevity, everlasting.

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Leap of Faith

"there will be things that will tremble your structure, be the one flexible rather than ridged to survive."

Trusting me

With your dreams
Virgin and pure

Not to tear them
at the seams

Believing me

When I say things
Hard to believe

Because it will be
At our vulnerable times

Hope in me

As I see you leave
Knowing that you'll return

I'll never need to be concerned
As our we both yurns.

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Cresting

Casted silhouette to casted morning
Stiff joints, sore back.

I'm awake to experience another morning
As I have been all these years.

Coffee is a brewing and I wait impatiently
As most adults each morning.

A time of silence before the romping
Of the kids running.

Thumping, making noise
I stand there looking at the blinding crest.

Thankful for another morning.

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