call to arms

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whatever grievances were; they're laid to rest.

our tribes turn from calls to arms.

we sit here clicking to these screens

aiming words, opening minds, reaching.

we are weaponless and beyond love for gunbelts

as our empty holsters and loops are now

where firearms have left their marks

and bullets stretched thin strips of hide.

know that here that word shoot

is not an action, no, mere substitute

for another that describes what we've left behind
on our way home to what we're worth.

save those tears for joy

(that hides with your name

upon its lips around the corner),
if peace gets a chance.

sheeps in wolves clothing (to the tune of Procol Harums "Hamburg"

you multitasking techno tools
have thrown your towels all in
filling hours with lectro movements
and screens with cursed art trends
the doorways too seldom pass you
thou prisoners of programs and walls
grounds wait for all our footsteps
skies unseen hold mute birdcalls

your socks are soiled and threadbare
as sandals ignored fill with dust
your hair’s some brand new color
‘cause your iron will’s full of rust
the digital clock hums on nightstand
makes no ticking as time flies
handless point to fleeting hours
while taxes pay for violent lies
believed by only those who uttered them
who take the toll and greed smooth cries
and the masses bleed to pay the piper
bleating softly through wolf guise