featured in Rumsfeld’s Sandbox

When the sadness of death comes knocking
And the people move to their rooms,

When the dry rapt of laughter
Fills their minds with tombs,

Crypts for the common man to keep
At his bedside,

And when the tears of joy
Fall on children

Staring dull-faced into the future
As far as the eye can see,

When February casts its pall
Of false hope on August or December,

You’ll see the light.
You’ll see it flicker and burn,

Burn and glow; glow, enflame, then burn,
And you’ll know;

Yes, you will know
That life is what you really need.

It is. There. Take it.

first published in Small Brushes, a print journal.