Peace Sleeps in the the Dust of Lost Dreams.

© -2014 -Matthew F. Blowers III

Art~Whimsically Yours Studio

They came to the old hippie

a poet of great merit 

asking him for hope.

Just some peaceful

solutions freshly penned

and read in lilting form

to soothe their tired heart.

But sad, bloodshot eyes

reflected the chambers

of his soul

as he replied in a 

whiskey laced voice: 

"I Gave peace a chance,

so many times we danced,

some days to the

beat of nightsticks,

and sometimes to the soft

whisper of a dove's wings

sharing temporary shelter

in the shadows of hope."

"I shouted it from rooftops

on soapboxes and in poetry cafe's

when all the world 

was in turmoil,

while boys were being killed

and sealed into government 

boxes and body bags."

"Most people saw long hair

with oddball clothes

and shook their heads

calling me insane."

"Others thought it was nice

but not a career, and moved on

into the financial worlds awaiting them."

"I wrote till my fingers bled lead

and the visions grew dull,

but dictators still reigned."

"Now we live in a time of

such great strife and angst,

a world chewed up and spit

out by madmen intent

on destruction."

"Peace sleeps in

the dust of lost

dreams long denied,

and I can only offer

words blended with pain,

pierced by the screeching 

of many nails

on the blackboards of denial."

"War looms as a starving beast seeking to

devour all who would flee its path."

"Thus, I am shaving my head

and training to be a sniper

from great distances."

"I will find peace

one shot at a time...

in the dark corners of our world

where demons plot the demise

of all God's children."

Then he left them 

stunned into silence, 

down a trail of tie-dyed tears

as that ol' familiar

smokey scent of yesteryear

drifted behind him.

Thus the last hippie vanished

in a noble effort to find peace

by going against the grain.