take the victory, letting none escape
ensure no vengeance takes shape
through murder, pillage and rape

bask in glory, steal the prize
never see the pain which lies
behind blind, defeated eyes

mired in mud, join in cacophony
heart hard, black and ugly
ignorant of the final irony

bathed in blood, exalt in battle
sword slaying enemies like cattle
never hearing your own death's rattle

© 2005, Aaron Brown

Fear has strength. It grips,
squeezing away the breath of dreams,
crushing the faith of heroes
down in the depths of memory’s heart.

Fear has teeth. It gnaws,
cracking apart the bones of reason,
sucking out sanity’s marrow
behind the back of the mind’s eye.

Fear has scales. It sneaks,
slithering through outgrown skins,
brushing the clenched darkness
knotted in the stomach’s pit.

Yet endure, endure for

Hope has wings. It flies,
feathered on the morning breeze,
carrying that single olive twig
above the fear in the waters below.

And all floods recede,
and all floods recede.

© Aaron Brown, all rights reserved.
(with nods to the classic by Emily Dickinson and to the Book of Genesis)

There is much we don't know,
all mysterious and grand.
We got a bright shiny ball
all covered with sand
but no rules for play,
nor even a plan.

We're given room to grow,
so we learn and we scheme,
reach out for truth,
all posture and bluff
then try to split Infinity,
and count all the sand.

Without knowing the rules,
as children will, or fools
we made up our own to use.
We guessed how to play,
and all think we may
just try stealing the show.

But while we run about
and shout out our rules,
does the knowing Adult
looking over the board
laugh and ridicule
or smile and reflect?

© 2005, Aaron Brown

When the poet set out to capture poems,
by building cages of paper and ink,
he shouted in vain at reluctant words
to come lay down within them.

But none did

When the painter set out to capture paintings,
by building stages of canvas and dye,
she strained in vain at bending the light
to come shine down upon them.

But none did

When the boy went wandering daydreams,
watching clouds dance across the sky,
whispered the wind for art to come
and write a poem in his heart.

And he knew

When the girl went walking on rainbows,
watching rain dance on rippled pools,
whispered the wind for art to come
and paint a canvas in her mind.

And she knew

What those others had both long forgotten
in scheming to catch the saddened muse
is that true art cannot be captured
and beauty is only given for free.

© 2005, Aaron Brown