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