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Rated: E · Poetry · Writing · #1624743
The mindset of a homeless veteran
                                                        SOUND NOT THE TAPS FOR ME
Sound not the TAPS for me, even though the sun seems to have gone down and darkness has covered my sky
Tis not now a time to retire, know ye not my work is undone, to get done all my heart to it I must assuredly apply
Rise oh sun, shine in spite dark clouds, the thunderous clouds, rolling ov'r me, so dark, so thick, blind I cannot see
My ears canst depart the sound of the blast, the bugle resounds I'm on the ground, be not TAPS but revelry
There is no ease to my toiling, sleep departs me, my spirit groans, in a crowed place, yea, even there I'm still alone
Teary eyed now dried, stiffed voice wont cry. To heaven lift I my hands, Oh that my sins I might have atoned

Sound not the TAPS for me, let not the buglers tone be heard, half a century old my story yet told, Tis not a day to die
If a man don't work, he won't eat for thus say the word. Yet labor is gone, I'm without a home, despite how hard I try
Oh for a better day, Oh to see a better way, To see amid the forest, even amid the big trees, there is always a clearing
A  patch, daisy and lily filled where the butterfly fly free, or was that a fable, a dream a bliss for the faint hearted's enduring
I've lost momentum, over crowded are my thoughts, downhill I am flung, arms stretched out yet there's nothing to grab
Rolled and tumbled, I'm scratched and bruised, no end, bottomless. my aches, my pains, can't heal, for, there is no scab

Who commanded the bugler, who taught him to play. Tell me, from whence did he come and where I ask does he stay
To make to him a visit I must, will try to change his tune. A merry tune maybe. Merry, yes merry, for dancing and for play
We'll roll back the clouds and throw back the days, we'll dance on the hills and in the meadows, we'll sing with voices raised
No war, no tears. All is calmed living without fears. Oh for such a day as that with lifted hands, I sing 'May God be praised'
But upon my knees I bow for my land is barren. Stricken in poverty hanging to loyalty pleading 'Oh God be not TAPS for me'
Once more allow your light to shine, even by a command of your word. Blow bugler blow, not TAPS, but sound out for revelry
                  Douglas McGowens
                    December 7, 2009

© Copyright 2009 doug mcgowens (ink2pen2paper at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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