A Poem, by Rosanne Catalano

A soldier grips a sword
The rising sun glints red
A poet inscribes a word
The tapestry gains a thread

A newborn’s hearty cry
Hushes in candlelit song
Life’s template twists, turns awry
The boy must learn he’s strong

In the battlefield’s harsh clamor
In the hand’s unforgiving art
Whether twisted primal nightmare
Or diplomacy’s checkered heart

In a river crossed or not
In a moment’s quiet assent
A strong man bears his lot
Hollowed soul yearning, spent

For a woman dark or bright
‘Neath a garden’s moonlit skies
Matched for a lifetime or a night
The ancient song reprised

Whether he walks a path that twists
Or lies before him clear
Along that road he will revisit
The pattern of his years

Then by a quiet pool
Rich blue wine in hand
He salutes the petals that fall
As all dances to an end

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