Each step on the road I take,
Each step on this line of blood,
A bullet point on the list of suffering
-if only I could understand Continue reading “to give away”
Now, that yesterdays peel away like sunburnt skin,
the scent of rain softens my angry, sharp-edged soul
My veins of river water, my clay flesh, my bones made of sin
pulled by the undertow of the past, a puppet of confusion, sorrow Continue reading “no backup disaster”
On storm scented days, the sky was populated by grey warbirds
their feathers consumed the bright, with lightning and rain for words
On war scented nights, all stars joined into a sonorous roar
to shatter the million poisonous bits making up its dark core
Was it the grey, cold November rain?
Was it the beatings, or the silence?
Or the contempt in other people’s faces?
I lost my way somewhere back there.
It’s a book of tradition, a tale of sorrow,
like the snake on the mighty apple tree,
like a river of time, cutting through
generations of living flesh and mind.
With my arms behind my back,
bound with past beliefs and moral
I took pride in this mold of duty.
Safely hugged by those chains, Continue reading “native tongue”
is the rustling leaves in the soft wind,
in the whisper of sheets in the nooks of blue
is the nightly cricket’s song for fireflies,