My best of friends are soldiers past,
The ones whose hair has grayed with age,
Meshed ‘tween today and memories;
I never quite grew up, for part
Of each remains within my heart
Meshed ‘tween today and memories,
The ones whose hair has grayed with age;
My best of friends are soldiers past.

Eric M. Vogt
“The Coldest War”
Copyright 2014



Some things trees don’t grow over.
They grow around.
The bark-sealed wire.
Swift burst of wind.
A cracked-off limb.

Some things a man’s never over.
The grave’s slight mound.
Love’s sharp desire.
A soldier’s skin.
Tall mountain’s climb.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2017



A hint of snow upon the peaks
Brings to my mind the peace we seek,
A place of sanctuary, high,
More lofty than the blue of sky.

I hold to hope within the morn,
With every garland you adorn,
That love will come to each one day,
And spirit sorrow’s songs away.

It is wish simple, here for me,
To share my shelter, make you tea,
Brave every storm, and hold your gaze,
Bask in the other’s life, ablaze

Until light fades from each mind’s eye,
Our ash be scattered when we die,
A hint of snow upon the peaks,
To share, forever, peace we seek.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



This night is lit with candle’s flame
That draws and leads the weary souls
Who’ve lost their way, and others, same,
That yearn a hope beyond their woes.

Yet light I burn this eve is new,
Sweet bell that sings in constancy,
A heart that stays forever true,
As bouy listing ‘pon the sea

To mark and guide swift sail to port.
O candle, stir like flame in she!
Light heavens with a sharp report
And bear my lover’s course to me.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



The trees lay barren by a lane
On peak that faces east to Maine,
The timber all around them young,
Their bark aged gray by time and sun.

They are the lone survivors now
Of saw and wind and winter’s growl.
Though they look frail to trees below,
Each holds a majesty bestowed.

They see friends stumble, bent by foe,
Yet stand by them there, row by row.
They wisdom gained few understand
Till tragedies destroy life’s plans.

They stand against decay of worm;
Yet, taller, for a squirrel make room.
Those younger trees stare up from field
And see them bear all heavens wield,

But each a dignity displays
That only comes with length of days.
On high their generation rests,
Example of its will through test.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



The pines had an effect that day
I journeyed down a lonely way.
The silence wrapped me as a shawl
Against the crispness of the fall.

A stream gave trickle, spring too far
To give it strength, it under par;
Yet it was clear with clarity
That helped me see more than most see.

A squirrel, red, jumping tree to tree,
Chattered rebuke to dogs and me
As if I didn’t quite belong
In forest, nor have what I longed.

But it was pines that pierced my eye,
And took away my every sigh;
They blazed with yellows and with golds
That comfort those who have grown old.

There, in deep loneliness of woods,
I stumbled on what I — lone— could.
I’d never grasped it if with one,
Nor seen its glory, blaze of sun.

Yes, I belonged— as one with tree,
With squirrel, with fall, with you, with me.
There came a comfort in it all
That made me stand a bit more tall.

Alone is not the same, you see,
As loneliness, if we’re as free
As fall, as winter, summer, spring,
The freedom that such silence brings

That makes man live as one with earth
And lends to him a greater worth.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



You are as the sun rising on the mountains,
Crisp, clear, as sharp as fall’s first morn,
As trumpet’s height and heaven’s horn
Beside bold ridge that holds hope, while wishes rain,
As pearl-like petals drop, the earth to warm.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2017