Paper Soldiers

Too Young It was war Blood and gore One by one they lined up and took their designated places They stood across from one another with their war faces. Battles are dark I wear the mark The General yelled for ammunition Loaded and released without hesitation His aim is sure But less than pure The wounded are removed from the field Both sides are determined and neither yield Young Teenage boys Playing with toys One side will win this hard fought battle Bodies will fall and treated like cattle Children maimed No one blamed The winners get one point for their effort But both teams leave covered in dirt Except for one youngster Decides he’s no soldier Even in the worse of instincts lays hope Not every man smokes violence like dope Our folly continues With few breakthroughs Playing high school football can be futile So many young boys lie on a broken pile That is the crime Cut in their prime One boy will be forever called ‘wimp’ As he bravely leaves with a life long limp Just like war Blood and gore ... Armand Hamouth

DEEPER

A MEASURE OF MATTER And if my love for you was greater would not all the trees courtesy, the animals pause to look. All the oxygen that covers the water would certainly rise, feed and sustain the breath of my emotion. Mountains would shed their peaks like tears of joy. Deserts serve up their fruits, their prickly pears peeled on a platter. Sunset would pause and sunrise hurry all at once and exist in a paradox to please the force of my reverence. Petals would climb their stems and regroup to bloom again. All the crawlers somehow cocoon into butterflies. The skies would willingly shape it, etch it, paint it, and frame it in clouds. The planet would swell, and the galaxies expand. The heavens would open for angels to look. The devils pit, without choice erupt with cooling winds, and an almighty voice would boom in festive laughter. In the endless depth of my love, I hold you dear, safely contained in my impish smile and I am yours for now, forever, more. Armand Hamouth

YESTERDAY'S PUDDLE

Painted Puddles from yesterday’s rainstorms and logs in the fireplace that warms. Carefully painted hearts, and oven baked tarts. Cut-out doilies, Made up stories. Fresh whipped milk chocolate, tickles a child’s palate, and a well thrown pigskin easily caught on a backspin. Your hopes and dreams surely will last forever If you hold them dear and don't let go. Never. Armand Hamouth