Back to Dallas:  The JFK Assassination 

                                                   The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.

The River Stops Here 


The river stops here, just down the street

I’m live and have arrived- to see death repeat.

In this frozen mausoleum where time stands still,

Taking photographs like a visitor touring hell.


Forty-three years hence and I still cannot believe.

A cold dark wind rose from the depths of evil.

It stirred from the corner of the railroad overpass

And continued a deadly swath atop the hilly grass.


This road is stained with our country’s blood and grief.

Fifty-five thousand followed the fallen Commander in Chief.

They marched into the plaza and disappeared below the overpass.

As I walked from Houston and Main to a sniper’s façade inside the glass.

For those guilty of his murder, justice in God’s court soon .

The eternal crack of the rifles echo from 30 minutes after noon

I possess a persistent pain that cries forever inside of me.

The river stops here. It will flow no more and will never be.