Strangely Familiar

While I am glad justice has been served for so many, I hesitate to celebrate. Osama bin Laden is one man among many who shared his sentiment. This is not about the defeat of one man, and that's why this is not over. We, as a human race, are only as good as our weakest individual; so, we have a long way to go before peace is the reigning force among us. E ach of us must constantly ask ourselves what image of America are we portraying? What image of humanity are we extending to others? If this is to be such a historic moment, let us not simply celebrate death, but contemplate the suffering of others and better ourselves so that history need not repeat itself. As we think on these things and evaluate our role in peace/war, I offer a poem I wrote years ago that still aptly summarizes my feelings toward all of these things. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Cheers, PD ~War~ Static whispers on the radio Something is wrong in Sarajevo They crash! Kamikaze are idols But

It's finally spring! As cold and desolate as winter was in Chicago, spring (though it came in May) is just as refreshing and beautiful. I think, perhaps, winter is the sleep of time, or of nature. The buds must close and the grass must fade so they can rest and be fully renewed when the sun returns. There is nothing that inspires as much hope and peace as a lovely spring morning. So, I bid adieu to the winter and the cold (both external and internal) with a little ode to black.  ~Black~ swish whoosh gone Quiet is the sound of the dark Raven black.  easy are the steps of those who walk above who do not know whither their steps may go.  gray film blurs everything in kind when  a light goes out and leaves darkness behind. dreary skies overhead  and heaviness within, I cry a salty tear, a coal snake slithers down my cheek. black is numb and cold yet it pierces and aches  it hurts, it is hurt it is nature's sad day slither and swoosh  extinguish and weep  this horrible maca