Listen, Younger Me
Listen, younger me,
I need you to hear me.
The world is cruel,
And you’ll think that you’re alone.
But you’re not.
People are going to tell you:
How to act
How to dress
How to think
And I’m here to tell you,
Give them hell.
You don’t owe them a damn thing.
Wear what you want, be what you want.
You don’t think it’ll work out?
I’m proof that it does.
Ode to a Dog’s Last Days
On this cloudy day
Your time was coming near,
You were in such pain
That would later cause my tears.
I sat you in some shade
And by you, I sat too,
Together there we stayed,
Watching our hilltop view.
Next to you, I saw your world
I saw it the way you do.
Next to you – to me it occurred,
How beautifully you are true.
The slight breeze was a hug,
The rustle of grass a gentle kiss,
Music sung the bugs,
At ease was it to simply exist.
You had no worries of mind,
You were contempt in your world.
You then turned to look at me
And your eyes said I had learned.
We both knew you didn’t have long –
Your muzzle was beyond white,
Your legs were no longer strong,
You were close to giving up the fight.
With this cloudy day,
One last knowledge you did impart.
You taught me the world’s beauty to survey
And to be at ease with my heart.
Your last job here in your last days,
To be sure I understood,
That for when we soon part our ways,
I remember to see all the good.
My best teacher you were to me,
And my best friend you’ll ever be.
War Child of Ares
I came upon Ares on his throne of flesh,
Strapped in armor, my eyes he met.
‘Why have you come here?’ He asked me,
‘I belong here’ I said as I bowed at his feet.
‘You belong here?’ His voice boomed as he laughed,
‘What means of war can a child craft?
War is for men to fight with their honor high,
For women to conquer with all their might.
For cities to be vanquished by their foes,
For orphans to cry of their weary woes.
War is not a place for you child,
For you are a life that is too mild.’
‘No you’re wrong’ I cut him off,
‘For a war god you know nothing’ I scoffed.
‘My battles may be less bloody than yours,
But they are higher in casualty I am sure.
I do not fight with guns or grenades,
I do not leave rubble in my wake.
The wars I endure are of a different nature,
Yet still they are birthed from an unruly disaster.’
Ares became quiet,
The throne room was silent.
He leaned forward,
‘Tell me of what you have conquered.
How can a child know of victory and loss?’
He asked with his eyes peering like a hawk.
‘The wars of children are fought at home,
Done by withstanding the drunken slaps of parents for some.
Others cover their ears when the house fills with screaming,
Hiding away they wish they were dreaming.
Others are exploited, forced to work for a living they’ll never see,
Others are taken and sold into slavery.
Others face internal battles seeking help that they’ll never get,
Others face death in their schools a place that’s supposed to lack a threat.
Do not tell me I know nothing of war,
On the frontlines in Greece, you are no more.
Battles rage at home every day,
For the children who suffer as they may.
Wars are not first fought by men, but by the children,
Who has had their innocence stolen.
Wars do not always require a victor, yet there is always a looser –
The children who suffer from their abuser.’
With a grim face Ares took a breath, and he bowed his head,
‘Stop, I wish for no more to be said.
You have shown me the wars I have not known,
And that children are soldiers of their very own.’
Raising from his seat, this mighty god before me, Ares dropped to his knees,
‘How do you know of which I couldn’t see?’
His gaze, hard as the steel of his blade, I kept,
I wearily sighed, ‘this shall be our little secret.’
Hayden Eubanks is an English Literature undergrad student at Murray State University. They also minor in Information Studies and have a passion for literary research and writing. Once completing their undergrad, Hayden will be continuing their education in English Literature at the Graduate level. They plan on eventually publishing a collection of their poems and other literary works in the future.