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Ken Godfrey Poem
Eyes
That sketch the tunes that the pirates play
And as gypsies dance as the sun goes down
They rise
Eyes
That keep the robes as soldiers fight
Then fight against the misty haze
But fearless as the jackal hound
Barks at the night as the sun goes down
They rise
But the stars of light with tears profound
They shed their light when the sun goes down
Eyes
That pick the bones that the eagles prey
And as bats in the field as the sun goes down
They rise
Eyes
That plot the tombs where prophets bled
Then mope around with demon craze
Seized by devils with eerie sound
That haunts the dead as the sun goes down
They rise
But the stars of light with tear profound
They shed their light when the sun goes down
Eyes
That sow the fields that the potters pay
And as mobs in the dark as the sun goes down
They rise
Eyes
That wet their tongues their egos fed
Then singe their souls with mocking praise
And dub him king though rightly crowned
And pierce his head as the sun goes down
They rise
But the stars of light with tears profound
They shed their light when the sun goes down
Eyes
That tread the path that the pilot lay
And as seed in the earth as the sun goes down
It dies
Eyes
That caught the scene no wholesome sight
Then glanced his stare his awesome gaze
But though he faint yet onward bound
Lifted up that night when the sun went down
He dies
But the stars of light with tears profound
They fled that night when the sun went down
Copyright © Ken Godfrey | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Ken Godfrey Poem
He brings the stars out by number
As a shepherd calls out his sheep
By the power of JAH who never slumbers
But we're all fast asleep
He makes his sun to rise o'er head
The wicked and the good
And not the earth to spin instead
The way they say it should
The sun and stars move through space
Fifteen degrees an hour
The earth stands still in its place
By JAH's almighty power
Copyright © Ken Godfrey | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Ken Godfrey Poem
Consider the rich man the wise man said
How soundly he sleeps upon his bed
And dreams
Of golden ponds
And silver streams
Of stocks and bonds
And cold hard cash
And other treasured trash
To stash
Within his pockets deep
While ten thousand hungry voices cry to sleep
Don't you do it
Don't you fall asleep in the rich man's tent
He has his reward but it's almost spent
Or would you dream
Of gentle oils
And soothing cream
Of rich man's spoils
Money groves
And treasure troves
To be stowed
within you cellars deep
While ten thousand hungry voices cry to sleep
Van Gogh did it
Bonhoeffer preached it for Heaven's sakes
Ten million years had been raised for stakes
So they traded in their down filled sleep
For tattered mattresses and soiled sheets
But then at last
Exchanged these earthen threads
For a more enduring cast
For Abraham's bosom beds
Where ten thousand hungry voices rest their heads
Copyright © Ken Godfrey | Year Posted 2011
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