to where they died
we carried them
and it was not
home
where they died
yet we carried them
and something within us died
with them
as we carried them
so far from home.......as they died
and I became their eyes
as they died
staring away from here to
somewhere
and remembering
the perfect happiness
of breath
and laughter
time on my side
yet all fades into gone
when death prevails
death laughing
his fist in my
face.
--Cal
And I then said...
Death laughing...
his fist in my face
but always knowing
this is my territory...
he may invade if he dares
knowing I fear him not
I have seen his works
Death, you are no artist
I stand my ground
I am not alone
For I see with artists eyes
through the sights of many...
Are we NOT brothers?
A question not asked
For the penalties of the answer too painful
Shall we do less for a brother than a friend?
A tear drops to the ground
A hero never seen again
A brother lost to the silence
As we carry him limp to a safe place
Knowing he is dead
But acknowledging it never
A brother never forgets
A brother is never too heavy.
--Poppa David
Brothers carried gently. . .
carried by their brothers
with eyes forever seeing
through each other's
carried from that place,
with fist raised, tricking death. . .
carried home. . .
for their brothers
...for
us
that we
may know who they carried
as they died.
Be warmed by that last breath;
Remember as we see
who they carry...
each face
as it was and remains
through brother's eyes
--EasyEcho
We carry
them in our
hearts, souls, minds;
physically buried, but
never left behind.
Remembered, cherished
until our own earthly end.
Comrades, brothers,
companions, friends.
Death's taunting fist
flouted and denied;
for existence continues...
their souls have not died.
--Woody
David R. Alexander (Poppa David)
Thurman P. Woodfork (Woody)
Lucille Biscaglio (Easy Echo)
© November 2002
MORE TO COME...