Downhill Orchestra
They did it again: hanged my weak and
meek body, then mutilated my innocent corpse
I was just but a writer of poetry.
I have not seen the beauty of days that pass
I have not tasted the heavy milk
Of nutrient laden might
I have just heard the slow sorrowful orchestra
Of my only never ending clusters of words
deep within.
I have taken a stand and gone on
Thieves and robbers would always take something
Judges and critics would never yield to questions
I am just but a writer of poetry.
Written 2006
Just the young thoughts of the young mind
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