"so it is sure", a poem written in the style of e.e. cummings

[so it is sure]

so it is sure.

an eerie glow

beset the moon    tonight.

i can hear the trumpetcall-

a smug              becoming cry

the minute properpast

relief seethes  into

tired smiles.

more more more in the

seams between the lines.

shadows wellset by time show face

creep out, waking limbs jolted on

as if rushing to greet longawaited

celebrant.

it is normal it is human

feel the energy it is normal

to grieve. to raise curled fist

high. to cry for        blood?

so war is sure as love.

stalking beast, hungry aching

for satisfaction to shake the rattling

from my bones.  it is i and i

cannot fall in step.

what i know-

what is death?

it holds no bias, no passion

no victory.

sacredandsure-

bad men        die.

i make no celebration of it.

so as hate is spread when hate is challenged

i and nervousfaces passing by keep peace

in-