Observations of a Warrior Poet. T. John Mattson
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like the biblical bush being burned.
Alas, the weary can rest their heads
For a time to a tranquil peace.
Only the nocturnal, in their various forms,
Come alive with relative ease.
It’s a time of respite, renewal, and reflection
Toward a previous day’s events
And to wonder, dare I say even,
Dream a bit,
At tomorrow’s new challenges…
Tomorrow’s new expense.
Alpha
My friend, listen close.
Since I have shared this same pain
Living where no one’s allowed
To be equal, beneath only, no gain.
This path, when followed upon,
Can yield only more lost,
For to keep others down,
More harm is promised—
More harm the cost.
Without Home
There are many with broken spirits,
Roaming and wandering, day to day.
The great majority of these people, all types,
Would much rather have a home and stay.
Most are seeking what many take for granted,
Those basic things to survive,
While others hoping for a simple chance
To chase those dreams and thrive.
Men and women, young and old,
There are no restrictions apparent here,
And though there are some resources
That exist to help, often, they’re not near.
As these people look to be whole again,
Searching for those missing pieces not easily found,
Many often feel as if shackled, with
Steep roads ahead—perpetually bound.
Acknowledgment
Hey! Yes, you!
I’m right here in front.
No, not invisible,
I’m not bearing that brunt.
I would hope in the future,
Kind words might cross your lips,
But if not, anything would be better
Than that blank stare and hands on hips.
Don’t fear the connection.
It might even bring joy.
Remember how you couldn’t get enough
Of that first Christmas toy?
So please keep in mind,
A simple smile, an occasional hello
May go a long way toward another,
Providing a much-needed “social pillow.”
La-La Land
Oh my, how this City of Angels
Has grown
From a once small pueblo,
To this huge melting pot, at times unknown.
People come here
For something felt very deep.
Maybe it’s the weather or the stars,
Or the dreams while asleep.
It’s felt growing pains, like other cities,
To current to forget
Such as smog, traffic jams, gangs…
All placing their bet.
That even this huge, as some
May say, suburban sprawl
Will move people to a better place,
Even if the freeways are a crawl.
Reflection
Mounted to a wall,
No matter what the shape,
It leers back through us,
With no place to escape.
Yet the reality it returns is flawed.
Some may even say cursed,
Since the images come back to us,
Backward or inversed.
Well, experts might use physics to explain
This dance of materials and light,
While the metaphysical soul might compare
And ask, which one is more right?
Such as, is the real beauty shown,
Or just wasted vanity?
Or might this illusion hide the sane,
As well as insanity?
Time
How, may we define
This concept, so surreal?
Yet it exists, we are sure,
Through change and age we all feel.
Many phrases are common,
That seek to clarify.
Such as, “make it,” “have it,” or
“When having fun, it can fly.”
Even Einstein’s equations,
Adding those dimensions of space,
Carefully crafted, complex,
Not easy for the commonplace.
But the one thing for sure
Is that it definitely marches on,
From the moment of our birth
Through our life, and well after we are gone.
The Fallen
Many times they’re our heroes,
Our champions, the strong
With whom time becomes their foe,
As do many things going along.
Commands to their bodies
No longer obeyed.
Doubt created for the newly unsure,
A new fear now displayed.
Confidence and esteem
Often erode in the past,
With a quiet humility,
Previously unknown, coming fast.
Can anything be done
To lessen this great fall?
Maybe respecting prior glories,
So they may always stand tall.
Harmony
A great hunger exists
In this land of ours,
Where equality is still sought,
With no walls, with no bars.
This balance, this harmony,
Has been an elusive tune,