Am I at fault for not wanting to be a slave
To another man’s dream to be
Though me may often agree?
The roads already paved…..
I curl my toes in cold shower morn
Avoid driving deeper these stinging thorns
Into the balls of my feet
From walking through your prickly garden
Smell of rotten angels sickly sweet
(There’s blood in the drain.
Smells like hot streets in the rain)
Snow falls on rainbows
-my eyelids close-
no pots of gold
In solitude I can hear the country sing
It sounds like the lonely forest first day of spring
So much hope, the past is done.
Creatures forgotten rediscover the sun
(There’s anger in politics
Rusty nails in the crucifix)
Their parents are dead
-Forgot to warn them-
winter comes again
Am I at fault for not wanting to dig the grave
Of another man’s losses gone by
Though we often share the grief?
The soils already spade…..
You don’t have to push the needle deep
To remember how it hurts
You don’t have to dig so very far
To hide us beneath the dirt