Feet drenches,

Trot trot trot,

On the dirt, it trenches,

March march march,

From war, it flees,

Left, right, left,

In the end, sees peace.


Threshold, brown and wooden,

Beginning of a peace untrodden,

All of the bombings ebb, melt or disappear,

As flesh descends into here.


Paths swivel and turn,

Underneath the chirping, the dirt stirs,

And goes out of sight,

Culminates into a bridge so bright.

A pond pops open from its mouth,

Ducklings plan its course,

Bees buzz to find their source,

Grounds swell with action,

Mind inside a well of tension.



Each bushel of a bush,

A well honed needle,

For every bee it sees,

An airborne war of the kites.


Yet, harmony in disharmony.

A peaceful ceremony,

In thoughts, they find their company,

Outside these walls,

Expectations run tall.


Mais ne t’inquiète pas, mon frère,

Car tout se déchaîne,

Avec un gros soupir.


(

But worry not, brother,

For it all comes untethered,

With a big fucking sigh………

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

Forget after reading

Only someone with a wound understands the value of a medicine. On my way into a Japanese Garden in Toulouse, I saw a memorial for the soldiers. An interesting find!