We the People

The nimble light holds promise true On shadowed ground in shades of blue With hurtful melody in ringing ears On hollowed ground soaked in tears A mother’s whisper through deafening moans On broken shores in broken homes With numbers mounting on pockets dry We deny thy maker and curse the sky With eel’s black sight and trembling hand Glass tears flesh of the earthly damned An evermore prophecy of things to come Beachly contemplation induced by rum A raven’s call and crow’s remorse A gentleman’s smile with erotic force With infinite burns of holy pleasure Inverted sanity described in measure Confiding in august with justice undone Rain never mourns the loss of a son And potter’s creation is easily folded Illusional fate children have molded