Punishing peace
Ghost heroes
Practiced chants
shrivel and bloom
Children divided
with words
encumbering devices
Their lives framed
From whimper to croak
Men from the grave
Claiming children
With drunken stories
Teaching them
to chide things
They never learn to see
Like blind seers teaching
With each passing hour
Of each passing day
Always to look forward
To something new,
Something stimulating,
Never knowing,
Never seeing,
Forgetting
How came the lines
on the old man’s face.
