NO HEROES

These days, cowards outnumber the heroes, and the begging souls outweigh the calloused hands of the hardest of workers. Both in life and in art, the lack of passion is sickening, and the lust for complacency is poisonous.

The Human Shield

Fur for the winter.

A shell for defense,

Claws for the attack,

Antennas to sense.

Wings for flight,

Nests for eggs,

Teeth to kill,

And a passion for fight.

Blessed with minds,

We create and survive,

Inventions and thoughts,

Produced and designed.

CAN'T

Chasing an apparition of my past.

Aching for something I'm not quite sure I want.

Sense memory captivates me with your head on my shoulder.

COMMIT. COMMIT. COMMIT.

I always retract.

Penance

Another night staring into a near empty glass,

Yet longing for that warm lull.

The clocks telling me last call, but I've never been a fan

Of hours and minutes.

Filling that glass to amend my troubles,

A one night stand of a solution.

The morning will disagree, but for now you've got my back.

Drink up, baby.

pack your bags

I don't believe you dream as much with a mind at ease. Dreams are mostly saved for those many nights of unease, and deep thought. With an accomplished feeling and happiness of the soul, one sleeps much easier.

My mind was at ease..

Though I slept well, I awoke that morning in the same way as many before it. I clambered to the kitchen, and left the kettle to steep it's black, hot smack in the face.

Piss, shower, shave, and dress.

I stepped outside and lit a smoke, the morning cold making the steam from my cup dance wildly. It was one of those autumn mornings where you could feel the electricity in the air; crisp and vibrant. The kind of weather that sparks your inner child, and almost excites you. For the first time in months, I was happy.

The suns warm columns of light flooded through the trees, illuminating the frost-filled path to town. Though I had begrudgingly trekked this road many times, this morning my step was light and my head was clear. I began to think of my still abed beauty. Not dreaming but sleeping peacefully, her hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm. I thought of her eyes and her voice, her beauty and her mind; I smiled the entire way into town.

I worked in a factory putting .50 caliber machine guns into planes. Production of the P-38 "lightning bolt" picked up after Pearl Harbor and I luckily got a job and moved to Burbank, CA to work for Lockheed. The hours where long, and the accident rate was high but I enjoyed the work and was happy to have a paycheck. Growing up in a depression, I never knew much of money, just to hold onto it when you got it, and work hard to get it. I felt good knowing I was helping the country fight to win this war. Doing my part.

Walking home was much like walking to work, I was tired and the sun was barely awake. I once again thought of my girl who instead of abed,would greet me with loving arms and a warm meal. Her hands would soothe the aching pain of the days labor, I would kiss her and all would be well. We would be happy.

I remember the fear and anger that arose when I saw the O.D. colored service cars parked in front of my house. My girl hysterically tearing up the envelope, and hitting the men in their classy wool uniforms. I pulled her off and held her close, I could feel her sobs get heavier. With her arms clenched around my neck, one of the men said to me:

"December 1st, 6:30 AM you must report for induction."

flamethrower in a library

Nostalgia and resentful memories are hard to be rid of, even after years have passed. Although a fire in my mind steadily rages, the smoke accumulated veils where it all began.

I can't describe the way I feel.. I never could, probably never will. So many thoughts stacked, and strewn about.

A monotonous red glow, branded into my retinas.