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Long Poem For Peace (PT3) it is all a lie it is noise and confusion inherited foolishness, well kept and passed down father to son now you will see me you will not hide from me I will hold the flame on your mind until the fire catches cant you see who I am the gray dawn sweet among the hills of Tennessee home the gray rough new uniform the new packets of powder and shot, the brass shiny caps a rainy mist, the gray lines the cavalry call the answering volley the first so it begins I am now turning around and around looking, everything moves so slowly the man in blue twists and shatters before my eyes settling like a rag across a fallen tree all scarlet and shiny I am a thunder, my ears hear a drum beat ever slower I am on fire the world is turning red and silent, I look down at the ring on my finger you will hear me now you will hear my bride weep you will smell the honeysuckle vine I fell into it takes me home outside the window I sing in the vines

The Poets Cloak : for young poets  Disbanded mercy scattered to the rag time bars to grow old alone no tribe of forgiveness to follow behind having lost its way in the money rooms who would you serve the fire to consume the desire for revenge bending the ending until broken ask for something less than nothing then the answer will be never forget you come young poets grow past the door of any thing you know find the hollow hours secret songs listen to the glass strings of the snapping harp played by bloody fingers late in the night of oblivians mother think twice before requesting the poets cloak                          By David Wetzel