Whiskey and Black Nights
empty headed,
just me
and Jesus
drinking jack,
both trying
to forget our name,
both victims of the insane.
Sitting watching,
soil turning to mud.
rotting seeds
and black roots,
we pray.
the rain it never stops.
In silence we drink,
as eternal sorrowful clouds
cries its tears,
upon the wandering souls below.
Don't come here,
looking for shelter from your sins,
or forgiveness for your failures,
our blood runs cold,
just whiskey and water
flowing in our veins,
and when the treacherous sun,
rises upon the dusty morning.
the black crows on the wire laugh.
as man crawls on his belly again today,
and Jesus kicks a beer can down the road.
Copyright © Paul Martin | Year Posted 2015
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