The War Room Poem by Smoky Hoss

It was evening when
I walked into the old yellow
room, with a sense of the
war to end all wars.
In the faint light of
faded wall paper dreams
were mounted the soldiers,
black-n-white gold framed photographs
of all those who went off
to fight the world in the name
of dreams, and
who never
returned. So many years gone by
now; who are they, my
brothers and sisters these
from every generation reaching
back upon back, down the
bloodline-connection, spiraling into
the dark eternity of places and people, family. All
of us. And now we gather here, in this
room filled, and flooding, with
the dim yellow light of related
souls mingling, and shinning, in
and beyond the dark that is
always just outside of us.
The war still rages; it has not yet
ended. (will it ever?) We fight on, for we must.
We gather together and pray
in the old yellow rooms
deep within our flaming hearts
of undefeated love.
Here, in the room where love
is created, we make war
upon war.