Words. Do they have value?

Words

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

 Do words have value? 

Words..

Once I was the talker, the jokester, the man who laughed at the struggle of the world.

I believed I was invincible and I had the answers. I believed I could help my world.

I didn’t want to be the watcher. I wanted to travel, test life and seek the things of beauty and mystery.

I believed a silence man, was a useless man.

I wrote upon a pieces of  paper for 50 years now.  The truth and I feel, like.

My words, just like leaves falling to ground in the Fall.

Just written and forgotten.

I read the war poets, they didn’t love war. They wanted to touch the ground of home,

to sit with a lover under a willow tree and sing the praise of life, of love. Not the death song.

The carousel of life made brave man, the quiet man.

I understand Salinger silence now and I know Bukowski vision.

We write and we write. Just words.

For who?

I sought war once and I learn. War steal the best from us.

I learn, just dead soldiers gone forever.

Did they fight for reason and purpose?

I body bags many and I pray for every one.

“Spirit of life and death. A brother soldier is coming to you.

Please accept them into a better place,

where they can rest.”

Now the Lake St. Clair poet write.

“Violence create more violence,

hate create more hatred,

no-one win in war.

Except the contractors of the war machine.

Please make our leaders learn,

war killed the wealth of our nation, of our world.

Our children.

Please teach our leaders.

Please lead with concern and kindness.

Listen to each other.

The blood song will kill the hope and dreams of our youth.

I have grandchildren now.

I wanted to stop war before they must fight the old men wars.

The war song, the song of greed, so loud. Word of Peace became silence..

Once I sang  the song of peace, of love.

Now I write silence prayers.

No more war.

We need the hands offering food, water and medicine to places in need.

Kindness create friendship, kindness create healing.”

The old St. Clair poet burn the white sage and

he whispered. A silence voice, a silence pen. We accepted war as norm. 

We are a part of the messy world.

Where are the men of peace?

Coyote