It isn't War
when war isn't war,
no boots on the ground,
no victories to achieve,
only doubt and indecision,
overcome,
by watching the polls,
and handing out weapons like candy on Halloween.
Poem 63
in the nooks and crannies of the net,
they wait in the darkness,
monsters too terrible to image,
lurking and preying on the unaware,
and the lonely,
spiders of the web.
The Cottonwood
breezes blow through the cottonwood tree,
so out of place,
and all alone,
its broad leafs dancing in the wind,
while memories dance in my mind,
home,
a place the cottonwood,
a common tree,
found in almost every yard,
towering into the prairie skies,
attempting to touch the sun.
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