Not a love poem this time, just one that is how I feel... not that anyone cares, but after all, this is the place where I toss little pieces of me to the winds, perhaps hoping that they will coalesce into some sort of covering to warm my heart and protect me from harm and/or any more hurt or unhappiness. Why do I do it? The answer is one that almost every writer gives: Because I have to.
Learning...
I have learned from my own and other's failures
In many things, perhaps even motherhood,
How to roll with the punches, take the blows
And often rise above the whole damned thing.
To forget and forgive: family, friends, enemies,
For there is more to life, and fighting is useless.
Further, I have learned that war is useless,
Feckless, futile, ineffectual, hopeless and a waste.
How have I learned this? By living through
So many, of my own making, and my country's,
So many that I do not want ever to hear
The ludicrous ranting of some useless leader
Who cares so little about peace and prosperity,
About the life and death of his country's people,
That he will simply avoid diplomacy and declare war.
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