Wound Up Toy Soldiers---a Poem
Scary is the world in big eyes of a child
with unfriendly shadows lurking from the night,
his imagination merciless and wild
creating little soldier all wound up to fight.
So he takes it with him into years to come
still wound up to charge against his many foes
on battlefield of shadows that's a little dumb
his hand glued to a sword instead of a rose.
Futile is his hope to defeat that hostile dude
because he keeps coming in so many faces
all created eagerly by this fighting mood
jumping out of even impossible places.
Out of sheer playfulness my keen eye observes
people and their games going on around me,
so I see this massive parading with nerves
not by just one soldier, but a complete army.
Despite all those frequent announcements of war
by miracle their uniforms stay without a hole
but panic of defense goes on more and more,
keeping their fighting as the only goal.
So I ask myself---as I always do,
what would befall them if they would just unwind?
Why they need an enemy, I don't have a clue,
instead of allowing some peace in their mind.
For old age will come to the most of us here
in retrospect---what will that veteran have to report,
but wasting his best years in a fighting gear
feeling just regret, and silly of a sort.