Entrenched

The lines are drawn
my side, your side

We walk our lines
back and forth, forth and back

A rut appears, two in fact
one on my side, one on yours

Our lines are marched
my side, your side

We never waver
never look at the other, never step out of our rut

So

Rut becomes trench
knee then thigh, waist then chest deep

We march on
we never waver, never look nor climb out

Fear of what might happen
bars us from communication

Quiet separation is safe
separation from argument is feared

We march on
trench deeper that we are tall

We march on still

Texts

written words speak across ages
but over time
like a long game of telephone
the message is blurred
shaped by the retelling
to suit the needs of those
who pass it on

Minuteman

Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
but come to stay

I know not
If I die this day

The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say

I know not
If I die this day

We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray

I know not
If I die this day

Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins