By Arthur H. Gunther III
Though I am a newspaper writer — editorials and essays mostly — I do verse from time to time. So, this week, with not much else to ponder about, I’ll offer three pieces, the last of which is song verse. Thanks for reading.
#1: A GLIMPSE
I saw a love
of long ago.
She moved swiftly
between my dreams
and reality, appearing
clearly, although
the facts were otherwise.
I reached out,
grasping for a moment
never realized.
She looked at me,
then left so quickly
that I knew she was
never there. Nor was
the moment.
#2: ARMCHAIR GENERALS
War drums begin, the old come alive.
Visions of battles never fought.
Now the chance to march
from the safety of a desk.
Young go to fight, marshaled
by the marshals of battle,
exacting in righteous allegiance
to what they insist is just.
Old men who pick up no weapon
beyond pen and phone
to issue this order or that.
Great destruction is their right,
these old men say, for the fight
is to save us all. Trust demanded.
Mistakes by command cannot
be undone. Limbs, psyches torn asunder,
continual dying for the lifetimes
of the once young.
#3: GONE
I locked the door last night, though it never had a key. You are gone, and I must forget.
Forget the soulful moments, the depth we reached without a word said.
Forget you in my arms, fitted like a glove, your heart in mine, my soul with yours, facing eternity.
Forget our plans together, though I never cared for detail as long as you were here.
Forget your eyes were blue and magnetic, that looking into them made me feel weak but so warm.
I locked the door last night, though it never had a key. You are gone, and I must forget.
Forget the calm we were at, our silence speaking for us.
Forget that being together was a book of understanding. Forget I came upon old doubt and could not trust real emotion. I left the embrace and could not return. Now I have locked the door, and there is no key.
You have gone away, and I must forget.
The writer is a retired newspaperman who can be reached at ahgunther@hotmail.com. His work can be republished at will, in any form, with credit given.