DEATH ON A SPRING DAY
Death on a spring day
Outside all is bright and clear
He feels none of it
He dreams of fond times
Love the dream world puppeteer
I do not know?
From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.
The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths once proud men had sworn.
The field now overgrown still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.
The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.
Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.
Our great Balboa has left the hillock bare
And two waters converge in evening mist
Where from our vision he made us stare
As the divided dimensions rose and kiss
So sleep the sailor, so sleep the caravel
So sleep great Balboa, toll, toll your knell.
A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
Winter is for children play, and for hubris.
The navy man has taken his golden wings
On glinted them against the silvery dusk
The eagle rising fro the earth sweetly sings
On dust-rock horizon where triumphs husk
The veil that cover human tears and fears
With tragedy that all mass and matter wears
A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
Winter is for children play, and for hubris.
So Balboa, remember your craft on one engine
The sound barrier rescinded, brings you to earth
The grave has no remembering, O the final spin
That undo all dream of birth! fair Deist now inert
Shall only watching moon alert us of this memory
The great walk that expanded the edge of history?
A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
Winter is for children play, and for hubris.
Conquistador of the modern world, great sailor
What tribes did you subjugate beyond Korea, tell
What corn you planted, what gold in your valor,
What new dominions now your great spirit swell?
I hear Darien laughing in the silence of the moon
I see the caparisoned horse, and the taps balloon
A sprig of spring is all autumn's promise
Winter is for children play, and fo hubris
They come, they come, stolid mourners slowly
The riderless horse ignorant you are gone, gone
Forever, grief bowed us, and pride lingers greatly
Thanking you for gyral cycle of an ambitious dawn.
But Balboa do you hear them, can you see tears
Can you reverse the plunder of the vernal years?
A sprig of spring is all autumn's surprise
Winter is for children play, and for hubris
And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth
I stand among the reeds in the basin
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
It's raining today - dreary it may be
The imagery of the raindrops in my view
Dripping ! In my brain I visualize
The dark clouds surrounding me
Thus I see - will there be sunlight
I look, I ponder! I watch and I surmise
the sun may peak in these predominant skies
Mesmerized - sun rays gleam in my eyes
Those beautiful hues - and yet the spectrum
The iris - that beautiful rainbow
It feeds my soul - I look at beauty
And thus blooms the flower - I know
It rained today and thus I say
The gardens grew - if you only knew
I woke - I had beautiful thoughts
Raindrops danced on my life this day
And yes! I saw a bud flourish petals
It's spring - and the rain doth bring
With a little help from the sun , my flower
Blooming in my head I visualize
Look what I saw when I looked at the skies
Imagery in my head, I thought
Imagine it - and the bird it may sing
Music to my ears - I listen - I see
That spring - it's really blessing me
Enlightened I saw the dead rose then grow
And I sit, I still ponder , it's roots I know
And the rose once posed- still life - of art
Prominent are the skies to make you wonder
The rain might start!!!!!
Again & again
Beauteous Be Poesy is my book of poetry available on googles, amazon. com and Barnes & Noble published by Trafford Publishing. wrtten by Miss Stacey Law
Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.
Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.
From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.
September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.
But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.
I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.
Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.
I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.
Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.
September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.
I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.
The wind crept up - the skies ever so dark
Black, slick, clouds and calamity enters thy soul
Dreary! It chatters and limbs they fly
No sun upon thy face - beaming with hue
Those clouds they swarm in darkness
Rain - it pours - flooding the earth
Bewildered I look up at this blustering sky
The trees are dead, It's spring - yes death
Roses in the ground with the trickling raindrops
The April showers - You haven't a clue
True grit! The soil now nurtured
The roots - feeding on this phenomena
And yet when the sun shines soon
Day after day - trees will come to life
And roses in bloom- life after winter death
In awe I see this beautiful imagery
In my brain, as I see the pouring rain
My mind - I visualize - the beauty
Thus, why does it expose calamity?
Beauteous be the wonder in my eyes
And how I love those dark dreary skies
A rosebud in my teeth - I see
Is extraordinary and so is the tree
Let there be rain as it nurtures the soil
And with the chatter of the wind, let there be turmoil
Again in my brain, I can truly love this day
I see life in the rain that is pouring today.
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
It's been nine years, I have counted the tears-
they have made trails of guilt
worried into my heart
then filled with loneliness and bitter despair
but by your grace I have been shown...
For the first time, in these nine years, I have not wept
nor held a vigil to honor our grief
though the loss still burns, this time it is transformed
Peace from your love still reaches through death
and through your eternal love I am reborn
It is Good Friday.
When God took your spirit home
and left me dying to know,
how to love him for his sacrifice
when he asked me to give up you?
How do I heal this death and rise with you in his arms?
Through your love I was born, and in your arms I grew
and it has been your love the kept me whole
that taught me how to be reborn
for even though your body has gone
your words lost in the wind and breath no more
The essence of grace and strength you lived
- it grows still in your daughter soul
My being and existence came from your womb
my heart and mind shaped by your enlightenment
I have lived a life you gave me and for once
I live it in pride to honor your sacrifice
your words giving me the guidance I'd lost nine years ago.
Alas, I've come to know, that as you died
and went home with our Lord, you saved me from my death
not in your dying, my grief and love can attest,
but in your living strength and loving example
you showed me how to live a life
open to our Father's gift
We knew it would not wait, but the parting was too fast.
I sat in thought three days before your sleep and asked,
"In three days time my savior died, I wonder hence
what of my soul will rise with his?"
And now sitting Easter morning,
holding my sons candy-filled basket,
I realized Three days passed.
He took you home Friday morn, but left me love,
that eternal love that never dies
whose comfort is unending
I honor your love by giving it to my children
and Easter morning I felt your hug, your kiss, and knew
you have never left me
Though God took you home Mom
I know you have never left me
for as our Savior died and rose
you too still live in my heart,
showing me proof our Father's blessings
because you, my love, are my soul and all ready there
there fore I am strong enough to give this pain up
to honor his sacrifice and transcend,
to be humbled by the grace and mercy
that could forgive such lost lambs as I
Maelstrom, O thou devil
Slither past last March then unto April
Into the eves and ides of May
Thou cannot hide, but thou wilt try
To disguise thy age old blackness
Forsake what once were brighter skies
Stranglehold; sane extraction
And the spills of night
A new tone deafness
Burning oil; sentiment molasses
Bringing storms that cloud minds human and fragile
Spheres of moonlit halos
Become, no more than serpent spies
Peeking through faultlines of life
Dancing about to the madness limbo
One lost soul...
Shipwrecks against a sea
And there too does the twist of tango
Eyes of the deep; tentacles, touching me
Elsewhere, the raven flies repetition
Into glass windows
Blood stains upon a faceless mask
Drowns out the cries and the conscience
Of feathers blacker that lie strewn
Are the questions I have asked
And the answers I cannot have
Let slip feigned breath of man beneath
A gargle from the cold tunnel brine
What's left surrenders alter to its evil
And nothing is, to evermore survive
And the eves and ides of May
Are Saran gas upon a mass of land
Men of desparation hunger
Eating flesh of man much meeker
And thou wilst not again
Glimpse thy rival sun
Nor when it comes, goes
Or finality, when it finds its done
Inspired by the madness of Poe
That which is locked within us all
Bringing novel flowers
To this multicolored Earth,
A really wretched place actually,
If you know the awful truth about it
Taking some flowers with it,
Upon these fortunate plants
Seventeen springs ago,
An ordinary flower blossomed
On this cursed land.
The worst of all curses,
Placed on this pitiful plant
And a fate worse than death
Seasons flew by
And the flower withstood
The immense force of the elements,
Debilitated by great adversity
Brought by the years
Now with spring close by,
If fate shall allow,
Hopefully this spring,
This dying flower will perish.
Its roots turned to ashes
And carried by the winds of freedom
To the promised eternal paradise
A garden greets my eyes
With its breath-taking beauty
And my suffering dies
* It Leaps upon the turning ground winter is past the sun does bring the warmth of dancer’s spring love rises buds begun * The scent of coming flowers sweeps away death’s sway new life It Leaps upon the turning ground death lies untrue, no wife * It Leaps upon the turning ground the flowers, birds do care as life does fly towards the sky the song of love we share * As newness flames the hearts of kin She sleeps only no breath It Leaps upon the turning ground but life steps forth, she weds
A silent wave rushing inside my heart
Your hand leading me so far we won't depart
Your voice I heard in away that's taking me far
Into a silent wave rushing inside my heart.
Oh the thrill it was to hear
your voice so silent as I opened up to you
so wonderful this silent wave rushing inside my heart
I was searching for a answer to a question for so long
there it was a silent wave rushing inside my heart
Your voice Lord, in ways I never found
a silent whisper so very loud
inside my heart the silent wave replied
to me your love is so divine..
So when the shattered dreams are filling your mind
please please listen to the silent wave rushing inside your heart.
Written by:©Betty Bolden
As I rise this day,
thoughts of you go through my mind.
I thank you for another day,
I pray I can do things your way.
The winter is in full bloom Lord,
the chill in the air today is cutting
through the trees,
The branches are crisp and the sky is cloudy,
I pray the day is warmed by your touch,
Lord,I love you so much.
The day is beginning now,
help me to live a life today
that glorifys thy name.
Written by:©Betty Bolden
Kill Da Wabbit
(a low IQ non fat Haiku)
Carrot hangs on branch
Kill da wabbit kill da wabbit
C.I.L.L....... da wabbit
Earlier than usual, for the pigs have broken free from their pen,
We are allowed to quit the milking because someone must get them.
The excitement of getting to be with her sets us to a run
But when we discover the pigs, we know that it is done.
From the woodpile we gather two-by-fours with which we lay into
The backs of the wild beasts because it is all we can think to do.
They had formed a circle around her, pushing and pulling her pain
Her hind legs were strings of blood and bone, little did remain.
With curses of Christian children we hurled into the wind
We chased the beasts away from her, beating them for their sin.
Though her cries had quieted to whispers, she was crying still
And this time we cried with her, for we knew the what will.
Mother, we asked for the gun, but father was not home.
Mother, we asked for the knife, but the good knives would not be won.
My brother made me wait inside so I ran to the kitchen window
And perched myself on the sink, pulling the curtain low.
He sat with her head curled in his lap in the shade of the old tree,
Crying into the warmth of her neck and then to set her free
His small arms around her neck and his unanswered cries
Echoing across the plains and through the cold Dakota skies.
my mark is fresh like snow in air
brisk and mist will crisp on hair
fists ball up from risk to care
whisper and stare but all is fair
love and reason, flow like seasons
the endings blending and quite seeming
parts of hearts, tho awake or dreaming
half is seeing, the other believing
eyes align and beats will sync
eyes a line for heat to sink
taken quickly for a fall
lovers stroll through memories' hall
echoes stir sight and scent
my senses flight keeps suspense
until logic teaches what it meant
all good things come to an end
summer lighting longer days
more hours to burn for lovers lay
precious tokens we hope to stay
from constant change or parting ways
spring into action to save those astray
a few more years can cost a pay
with lives and sacrifice displayed
perhaps tomorrow will be okay
years can fly like clouds in sky
feelings revealing what to decide
and just like that were back to try
to love the same until we die
Written November 17, 2013
The summer dies slowly
Into autumns arms
And winter does linger
Until spring breathes at dawn
I've fallen for you
Cast under your spell
My gaze as stone
As the old towne well
My face as pale
As the moon in the night sky
My heart unspoken
Left wondering why
These days are so chaotic
Yet these nights so serene
i call for mother
for she is sleeping on the sofa
i look more close for death has come to call on this sunny spring day
"mother , "mom" "mommy"
no words will wake her for death has made his final round
my breaths shall not save her no matter how hard i pump
my pleas nor cries will bring her smile back out from behind her blue lips
i stand before mother in her favorite dress and i hold her cold hand as those around say it
was for the best
i lay in mother empty bed smelling her perfume waiting for her just to walk though the door
i wait in darkness for my heart has no light
my days are full with routine but i am dead on the inside my smiles are fake and my laughs
"just one more day to get though"
i am lifess and joyless i am pointless
my children grow but i am blind
i grow older but my grief ages me even faster
my face i no longer recongize though the mirror
long roads and dead ends but i can start to breath again
recovery is so hard mother but recover is a must
my smiles are real and i can now laugh without crying
no longer do i look to the door waiting
some days are long and i must really work at it
some days are so easy that i never want them to end
i stand with flowers in my hand and the spring breeze ruffles my hair
i look to your grave and
i can finally say i will be fine
i will be ok
Across the snow melt in the field
A calf pushes free from his mother.
The cattle call and none do yield
As she cranes her neck in welcome.
She licks the womb’s natural shield
And nudges him to awaken,
But he lies where he fell in the field
As the grass breaks free beside him.
The prairie to the sun has kneeled
Until the line between is illusive -
Golden of sky, golden of field -
The breaking birth of the season.
Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by
Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul
Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory
Fresh water arises with the scent
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all
The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist
Silky white, pink-tinted petals pushed by dreaded zephyr
They brush against cheeks; comfort sensually skinned
Delicate, freshly bloomed, fall like widows who have wept
I should too if not for ignorance willfully kept
From afore does she stare
Poised passive without motion
Petals grace and glance in glimmer
Dans la roseraie de la vue
Attractive allure into light's lust
Marinating morning's delectable dew
Entwined is she in the rose's vine
Flowered fluorescence enclosed eloped
Claret joues et l'éclat rose
From the bud doth she now call
Flowered glances doth pollen pose
The spring is wilting, it's leaves of veins slit red and makeshift graves where truth once layed upon a bed of roses.
Those roses whose shoots once rose, through ashes of adversity now show no signs that the roots are even there; the blood has drowned it everywhere.
The petals are burning through the smog, which strangles voices in it's fog; the vegetation doesn't grow, it bellows in pain as the rockets rain another day.
The spring is wilting, the summer's doubtful if it comes. All time is ending; and no ears can hear a sound. The fires suffocate it all.
The glimmer of truth still skies the hope but still the peasants die; there isn't time to mourn their passing for here come yet more rockets from the sky.
Will there ever be a summer?
To the martyrs and innocents killed in Libya, Syria and Bahrain. Let us pray your deaths were not in vain and that the world will see a summer come again.
SPRING AND THE DEVIL'S ARM
Abbreviated by an early autumn night
the summer, once tormented by a torrid sun,
relented to September, as if dying might
give reason to all things the heat and time has done;
The stalks of corn, if touched, explode into a dust,
and water tables sink down to a new found low,
but love always goes on, as love, it always must,
through drought and flood, and shortages that come and go.
There in the field, an old man points his maple cane
as if a prophesy, and something we should know,
always, always, always, there will be too much rain,
or not enough, and only love can ever grow.
There is a blizzard brewing, it's part of the plan,
up in the wastelands north, with tons and tons of snow;
and on a winters' morn, snow will be deeper than
the fences seperating everything we know;
and how the wind will howl, and everything will freeze,
there's little we can do, but hope for early spring,
always, always, always, we fall down to our knees
in love and prayer that times like this always will bring.
Next spring the rains will always fall, perhaps too much,
for some the devil's arm will reach down from the sky,
and twisting life about, there is no gentle touch,
excepting love, and that is all that gets us by.
Always, always, always, love has to always be,
though borrowed from the wind, though sought in pain,
though snatched out of the grip of some cotastrophe,
if not for love, there'd be no welcome summer rain.
When I lay down on my deathbed,
Remember me…remember me forevermore
When I give in to silent slumber,
Don’t grieve for me…
I’m in God’s hand –
A pleasant placement that I adore
When I wake up from this horrifying nightmare,
Dream not…dream not of war or violence
When I try to reach for my goals in life,
Be not afraid of me…I’ll be a success
Be not afraid of thee…He wants you to have progress
Shower me down with empathy and elegance
You sprout splendidly like a flower in the brink of Spring
Tower over me…protect me from
You don’t doubt –
You are one-of-a-kind and You are a GRAND KING!
When I grow weary and old,
Don’t desert me like a worthless garden full of weeds
Don’t desert me…bury me in the damp soil like seeds
If you do decide to leave me behind,
That would be just rude
When I have high hopes and if I’ll ever be as bold as The Lion,
Don’t take away my strength, my gift, or my gratitude
When I fall asleep on eagle and dove wings,
Don’t worry about me!
My heart will take divine flight
When I approach heaven and its radiance
Reigns upon my undying soul,
It brings me love from somewhere quite a delight –
Don’t reject the precious light
The precious light…
You’re a grand king!
You blossom with might and victory
I crown you with
Loyalty, Awesomeness, and Golden Pride
I do not know?
Finally came upon such beautiful scene where the eyes cannot resist.
With such pure fragrances taking away the sadness and the purpose of life,
Lies under these red cherry blooming trees, the sadness and painful endurance of each falling blossoms.
Each leaves and flowers reminisced of my past.
As the spring passes by, nothing is left behind.
I pick up the red blossom flower and smile, as the spring vanished,
I faded with the season, shedding the last drop of tear surrounding by red blossoms.
I know about a man of the early morning, a simple man. No man of deep thought, accompanied by those who do not. He is a man that very much enjoys the cool lush grass. He likes to take his shoes off while he works, to feel the dew between toes, on his chest and his face. In stillness and pain incomprehensible; all thoughts are halted. What follows is profound silence, which is when the beast lifts the earth, dense muck. Limbs strained and back arched, a fresh ditch. Or a resting place?
Tis spring and budding the crocus blossom
the fuchias have died from winters fright
the cold gate of winter has released it's might
and yet in hybernation is the possum
the spires of the foxglove will skip this year
within the glacial tears have winnowed past
then distilling of snow hardened fast
anon the daffodils and violets will appear
The shoots of life spring forth in arias song
the frost within the heart of winter fled
fountains bound forth from waters shed
they have all been kissed upon by dawn
In the hills the trails gates are broken
winters past has smote it's autumn
languishing leaves can never blossom
and beauty of it's death rarely spoken
Purple lupine forest yet to stretch the meadow
the wetland swamps lay still in fallow
yet is tendered by frog and swallow
soon the cattails and water lillies fellow
The leaping children of the woodland forest
will spring forth from lonely glen
and years to rushed for blessing men
yet in it's radience within does rest
Seems felonious that within rejuvination
that the doubts of men should sprout
when manifest of nature does so shout
that rebirth to life and love it's susperation
But one must chose what one's course is fated
rebirth it's possibility to man
in soil the breath of life to land
Nature has so amply demonstrated
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Do you think I care
For your phony Arab spring
And dead trees and hot wind
I have never seen a spring without seed popping from the soil
I should know I am made from the dust of the earth
Spring must have rain and bring flowers
Like the peace people use to sell in California
Before I knew they were only exploited slaves
Following someone else's agenda
Muttering words that were meaningless to their existence
You see what I cannot believe in what I see again
I am a man of faith, and have always been
Since the blindfold fell like scales of history
There is no Arab spring
Only the death of the old undying resistance
That would not conform to nothing but self
Only the death of people in the street
Who does not know the puppiteer willed them
For if they return from the dead
What will they see
Only the same old things more dilapidated than before
Only the invisible hand doing visible things
Killing people and calling it spring
That the new world order may prevail
As a new nomenclature
For the same old stuff that has made us barren
And berefted us of dreams
I want my children to better off than I have been
I can only entrust to me
Sleeping at their door armed with a prayer and an angel
That is who we were
Before the primitive hordes came from the sea
Before the sea people defied the bounds of their habitation
Before our empires were stolen
And we ended up in cages at the Bronx zoo
Yeah, you should read that story too
It is only by prayers we suruvive
It is the mystic part of us, the first part they derided
Calling it animism, or some dark sinister stuff
Making us afraid to own ourselves
We abandoned everything and found no berth
In their new economic order
For we were always commodities or some sort of value in exchange
So those high sounding, idealistic documents
They copied from what we believe but could not bring to pass
Those constitutions were not about us nor our possibility
For we were not construed to have humanity enough for that.
Then are we suddenly men again
That the Arab spring should be something more than a sinister thing.
I stop believing in Trojan horses long ago
I mean it is there as a gift
But I will keep working the night shift
When there is no moon
Just remember what is the color of my skin
Because all things work together for good
And I cannot walk by sight in the darkness
So I live by faith in season and out of season.