Richard C. Rice


Stretched out before me,
Like a god forsaken plain,
Lay the memory of a moment,
And it blew itself by like the wind through the rain.

The light intermingled,
With dark and soon took shapes,
Of the ones who were destined to haunt me,
And do so most freely again and again

So many were chosen,
To walk that beaten trail,
Too, too young, yes, and far too often,
The green and the guns hid the cliff at the end.

Like my father before me,
And his father before him,
I will tell what I know to my children,
Of the methods of mining the peace in your head.

Oh, the days rambled on,
And the nights were filled with fire.
Only embers remain,
Like the most that I could wish for.