Some learn early who they are. Others often find out the hard way.
he could say
I love the light in your eyes
the fire that can't be extinguished
could tell the child this too will pass
that the sun will hide tonight and return tomorrow
he could touch
the tears pleading to be kissed
dropping upon her ragged cloth desperately reaching
feet so bare so long
weathered with protection
her only protection
so resistant that storms of innocent love
might never wash the miles of learned hate away
he could be a father today
he could be
a surrogate mother tonight
a caregiver tomorrow
even the scorpion he sometimes dreams of
stinging the threats
of insanity behind the rocks
or buried in the sand
a poster boy
a saint in armored vestments
one who knows everyone thinks they're right
and never admits they're wrong
he could be
the pawn knowing patience and strategy
will bring the edge to him
will provide the last square on the board
to resurrect the queen
he is a battlefield medic
one who dreams as if he'll live forever
and lives as if he'll die today
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|Reviewed by Lily of Lough Neagh C. Dennis-Woosley
|Many could be and are not, many miss the call and do, many are satisfied to remain as they are and lose.
Wonderful prose Odin to enlighten others
Love and Light
|Reviewed by Budd Nelson
some never find who they are even when it is almost to late.
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|I'm a living legend when it comes to wasting decades and decades of time searching streets and highways of America for a person I was trying to find . . . me. Unfortunately I was well into old age by the time I found myself. Am I sorry I wasted those years? No, because it was what I was supposed to do. What would have been worse would have been to not have cared one way or the other who the real me was. Like Richard, the last five lines reached out and grabbed me.|
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|I was wondering where you were leading. My uncle George was a medic in World War I. He was stone cold crazy and carried around a money bag filled with rare coins because after he lost everything in the stock market in 1929 he didn't trust banks or paper money.
They say he was shellshocked. Just another name for PTSD.
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|Smart imagery juxtaposing what your protagonist dreams and what exists as the reality. The last stanza was unexpected, Odin, and moved me in multitudinous ways. Forging forward with the banners of our dreams unfurled is efficacious as long as there is focus and vigor. A toast to purposefulness, clearheadedness, and unwavering verve. A fine insight. richard|