War has been silence, conflict has been put to rest, worries have been shoved to side. It is holiday time in the air. The air is fresh on my skin, the brisk gental touch of a snowflake has glissened upon my face. I hear the children playing in the snow and laughing at the sight of a snowman. The snow keeps falling hour by hour piling up and up. The candles burning in the window still the lights flickering on the street corner. Now it is time to relax no sound of gun fire no sound of yelling or crying. We can all rest now, we can all rest now it is time for the season.
Here's a poem I wrote in 1995 called Similar Horizons
As horizons swallow the sun, too many lie down under gun. No choice was ever given to how the rest ev er livi'n bore weightlessly truth known, shouldered broken by throne. A great land porspered feely. Many bright voices gleely are saying what's gotten but the rest eat what's rotten as horizens swallow the the sun, too many lie down under gun. That old word shunned. It's outlawed ways funned, rains gently nourishment and always encouragement.