Grandfather was a World War II veteran
defiant and full of military rage.
I read about him once in a Paul Laurence
Dunbar poem
Beating his wings against a gilded cage.

He grew tired living on
trade winds and wine.
He was a lion king trapped by the
restraints of a
World ruled by shallow men and narrow
minds.

Those that trample birch trees and men
who glide over fields
Like my grandfather.
So when he reaches out,
he speaks with his eyes
Eyes that cry freedom
In a world gone mad.

Those eyes reveal distant rivers, valleys
and hearts forlorn
Unsolved mysteries, stolen legacies
ancient and strong.
Those eyes speak of the conquest that
was his and his alone.
Of distant ancestors who inhabited the
worlds great rivers…
Rivers long gone.

My grandfather’s eyes dance and sing of
home.
His passionate eyes,
Enchanting eyes
Courageous and Strong.

Those haunting brown eyes never spoke
to me.
But wrote a story about a war that was to
end all wars, and a song
about Peace.

His eyes are on the sunset now,
how soft spoken he is in the winter of his
years,
his body broken, but unbeaten.
His heart is filled with tears, joyous tears.

His eyes contain memories
forgotten by fires and trials of sin.
And there he stood like an eagle
Smelling of myrrh and sage ready to
Dance on the wind.
His eyes are now as still, still blue
waters
Serene, deep.
He will soon be at peace with God, at peace
with himself
And at peace with me…

 

 

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