Still Missing

I can’t find
my gift,
the one every
man and
woman
is said to
possess,
that personal
chandelier
to swing from
that makes
life a
party
and work
feel like
play,
no, not today,
not yesterday
or days long past
have I
found it
and I’ve poked
around a
fair amount
so I write
and tell
myself
“yes, that’s it!”
to offset
the hell
of
wondering

1914 – Unedited

Here is some late night scribble. I haven’t edited it at all – just for the fun, (or embarrassment) of it.

 

Weep for the horses

All the beautiful horses
driven into service,
worn to death,
blown to pieces
to serve men –
stupid men,
ready for ANYTHING to die
to accomplish their ends,
stupid men
all shined up with courage,
the traditional veneer
of death
but the horses,
the beautiful horses,
tossed along roadsides
as casually as
bullet-ridden
canteens.

All the beautiful horses . . .
weep for the horses