Battles

Soldiers in the window,
colorful, untouched,
works of art.
I think of you,
when you were a boy
and history was your world,
a part of you,
like your pulse.
A part of your passion,
your grandpa surviving the holocaust,
fueled your desire to learn
the pieces of the puzzle.
The motives,
the moves,
like the game of chess you both played,
respectful opponents.
His arms like wings,
sheltering you ,
yet his words hard with truth,
your mind vast
and hungry.
Now a man,
you heal people.
Still famished for truth.
You see the price of war,
my boy no longer dreams of battles
he has grown to dream of peace.