Peace Dreams
The aging hippies will die
Without peace
In a country
They do not recognize
They pluck dead flowers
From their hair
And dashed hopes from their hearts
And toss them as they go
Pelting the greedy liars
Who stole the dream
Of a better world
For the children
No more bonfires on the beach
No jingling tambourines
No more blissful
Age of aspirations
No tie-dyed women swaying
Breasts free, hair wild
Eyes fixed on a horizon
Ripe with possibility
No denim-clad dudes flipping
Hair from their eyes
As they beat the drum of freedom
Singing songs of casting
The weapons aside
They taught the children
Of beautiful things
Of love, understanding
And acceptance
Now the babies of those children learn
The best wall upon which
To flatten themselves
When the shooting starts
They’ll remember for all their lives
To scan a room for exits
When they enter, knowing
One thing for sure
They are not safe
In this world
Of peace signs
Twisted to swastikas
But time is an ocean and hope a sail
And the hippies pray:
May the children of our
Children’s children
Rise from the rubble and resume
The march for freedom
That we won’t see
From our cold graves
Death will grind us all to dust,
But the peace-dreams we conjured
Are pregnant with magic
Forever flitting in the wind
Young ones, take up your tambourines
And feel the rhythm
It’s there, and if you’ll but listen
You can dance