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
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2005
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