All Men Fight Wars

All men must fight wars
After leaving childhood
They step into the storm
Some travel far and away
Others battling away inside

I've been with them some
Those men who lost it all
Still the sand I find in places
And often photographs of war
Tales of faces brave and scared

For some the battles still wage
Prisoners locked away at war
Their mind races with angst
At an enemy no longer seen
Men who forgot the way home

I'm not sure why it is I know
But all men must fight wars
Even those who never suited
Blast specters across their mind
Lost love, doubted faith, muted fear

Win or lose, and lose and lose
Demons await each sinking ship
The world has a remedy for pain
A price for which no man has cured
Though many die to play the game

War is not won or lost, simply staved
For each eye opening, another melee
Often I think about my brothers' fight
But so do I ponder about silent strifes
For each a price is being paid daily

But what calling is it to write their way
Though told,  I've walked both roads
To no end, another spit blooms, as  yours
Because all men must fight wars,
Headstones are but proof that they do

You Haven't Arrived at Your Destination Yet

They say that water seeks its own level
But dreamers, they seek the whole well
Whatever is unsure, unwritten, unspoken
There you will find the ageless idealists
Drinking deeply from pretty colored cups
They will trade you everything they own
For the possibilities beneath their minds

In their hearts reside but unfinished dreams
Bits of broken things fallen from the past
They collect hope much as a life collects age
The pieces spin riddles over memory and time
Blankets of such cover away the biting cold
While they toil away in fields left to rust
All a man is, are his thoughts, entropy swells

One such spent all day smiling at the rainbow
To be that no one knew his mind spoke thunder
Clouds of rain mirror those of passing passion
Until it is unclear where shapes are defined
Subtle lines of singularity often burst open
Spilling forth untold storms from endless color
The happiness of a man is measured in his sleep

Riding Ferris wheels to remain a step above doubt
They understand realism even if it denies them
Alas, the brightest minds are often the darkest
For who sees more than their mind can harvest
At the top of everything is another opportunity
One choice to lead, One more apt to follow
To flail or rest, The great undiscovered, unmet

Trying To Explain the Circus to a Man Who's Never Been

There's a circus nearby, just on the outer edge of town
Lots of lights, and foods, where  noises are always found
The ringmaster sits down now upon a funny little chair
And he looks quite mad, as though enough to pull out hairs
Don't mistake me now, his stated angst is not akin to anger
For peanuts and popcorns and elephants are dancing in the hanger
The show is soon to start within the hour and all have made to watch
Aisles have filled their seats quickly, No chair left in the bunch
What will the hatter do for tricks, tight ropes or something ever tragic
No, not the rabbit pulling kind, but he always knows some magic
His heart is jumping,, lurching,  thumping on his badly, tattered sleeve
And in his mind he races, to the beat of  his ticker's illustrious greed
Every summer's eve at night fall do the tickets sell out quick
A great tent bulging with folks from all each nook and crick
All to watch the elusive but spirited chap tame another headed beast
Each one has grown larger in size, some of them as well in feat
Such a sad little show displayed, like a movie played from spool
To discern the timeless riddles as they are spitten' by a hull
No not the peanuts, the ones that may be crumbling at your feet
But another form of shells, The ones that speak of broken beats
Or songs, depending on where you first did learn to speak
The show goes on for hours, or years its seems at least
 Until the circus man does tire or the last goer leaves their seat
That which happens first, does often vary from week to week
A sweat now pours from the master's coat adorned with ties
Odd recollections of his, from the journeys' of his life
Only when the lights go off though, does the circus ever begin
For who knows themselves better than away from all their friends
Love and work and fun and faith and life and death and sin
Who can balance their weight and not be trapped away in bins
A tired man just dying to hear his voice amongst the jungle of the crowd
Trapped once more in endless whens like a dreamer inside a shroud
Just before the last hour does one last ticket holder approach the climb
Standing back from amongst the crowd, waits his destiny in line
The years of salted tears though, they have left him all but blind
And alas he cannot see the rainbow's end just like every other time

Postal

Letters get damaged
Or perhaps misplaced
Not a job of theirs
To ensure security
They know nothing
Of waiting or doubt
Perhaps a dog ran by
Took a scrap of cloth
Chasing away hope
From little boxes
In the darkest fringes
Do words become lost
Or perhaps camouflaged
A study from the porch
would better discern
But the waiting is droll
Suns, Moons, rain, dust
Damp envelopes kill hope
Blurry ink dismisses intent
Confusing contextually
Until it was forgotten
How it all started again
Better to pick up a phone
Than to wait for the mail