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Anthems, Angels...
and Old Men's Dreams |
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Words fall
as leaves of Autumn
upon old soldiers
... soon, gone away
to the winter... cold,
and falling unto death.
History!
... and all of remembrance
falling
as tears...
innocent as a child
that calls out
to them... !
...a child crying!
They stop for a while
... and smile.
The old soldiers
gone
for now,
yet knowing the very heart of freedom.
They stir within their old dreams...
warrior bones so restless
to return again
somewhere...,
someday!
To that place that time calls
freedom...
A place of silent Brothers
gone...
A place worth dying for.
Oh!
My Mother...!
I have dried the tears of Old Ireland!
... here
at home... and so very far
from war...
Oh! My Father!
I have mended the Broken Arrows
of your people
... lost
so long ago.
I wear all the tattered garments of age.
Time is wrinkled and forgotten upon my face.
My beard is silver,
yet my heart has found golden dreams
upon the doorstep of this beloved land of liberty.
I have never forgotten my Brothers!
... and the very
living,
breathing,
wind
that folds it's arms around the Earth
... has called me,
... a friend. |
By
Lou J. Klaiber
Copyright 2003
Listed July
26, 2009 |
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