the kindness of strangers

I'd like to delete
that last poem,
but maybe
it's okay
to let it stay.
(Maybe all writers
are haunted
anyway.)
Maybe we see
all the soldiers
who no longer
wish to be
soldiers.
We could be
the young adults
finally ready
to leave.
The punk-rock hearts
willing
to give
drum
& bass
a try.
Painters
in the scorched
forest,
saving lives.
Spring
birds gone
silent.
God I hate the silence
and all the things that cause it.
The devoted fans.
The extended
hands
of hope.