[untitled]

He grew up during America’s

then current war, the one

in Southeast Asia, Vietnam, the “police action”

of the time, and we protested, peacefully

or as violent as the war itself,

“hell no, we won’t go,” “make love,

not war” ... and then we grew up,

moved on, forgot even, but not him,

who served no time behind bars

or in front of a gun sight, slogging

through swamps and rice patties running red

with the blood of his peers, comrades,

who came home broken and rejected,

part of something he was not, never was,

nor part of some anti-establishment movement

with flags and fists and placards raised,

“sitting in, dropping out,” proclaiming peace

and love and simplicity, back to nature,

power to the people with the right to do as we pleased,

do our own thing, whether we should or not,

beating down the man who would constrain us,

hold us back, make us conform to a world yet unformed,

but he would not, could not, even when he tried;

for he was a quiet man, confronting no one,

raising no alarm, hating none, dreaming ...

as others have dreamed ... believing ...

as others have believed ... and waiting,

patient, his hand out to others to raise

them up, even as he faded into the background

that lay behind the new order, an ordinary man,

unassuming, apart, noticed yet unnoticed,

unknown really, an unknown man changed by circumstance,

making peace with himself in that world rocked

by the times, by all times, dreaming, believing, waiting.

And now, years later, other wars behind him,

other actions and reactions, rallies and protests,

progress and regression, he grows old,

tired, and the dream, perhaps, fades some,

when what we fought for then, Peace

and Love, a better time and place,

is as far away as it’s always been,

long before Southeast Asia, Vietnam,

before the wars to end all wars, I & II,

and the battlefields since, and he wonders

if mankind is hopeless, self centered, afraid

even to change, to grow, to begin

the healing process before us, confronting us,

or is it just giving in, mankind giving up,

fighting just to fight, meaningless words spoken,

making noise in a world of silence,

this silence we dread, perhaps, this healing silence,

if we’ll just listen to humanity calling,

or is it too late, he fears, even

as he reaches out his hand to others still,

raising them up, believing and waiting,

holding fast to a dream,

fighting to keep it alive.