Father

4 Jan

And for a smaller taste of the dirt in your grave, I will have a bird free soul
When you meet me high in the towers where the black bells toll
Father, I see you dark and your divine face like mine shines,
But only in my mind. The world will never see your shallow mask
Only in my eyes will you be caught in passing as we run arm in arm to plunder and peruse the warm humanness of the less than wanted side of the town
The less than affluent sections of a wet city and a muddy giving. We will find all the medicine we need I’ve held the ceremonies and said the prayers. I’ve asked for you to lead me to your grave I’ve slept out under every star of loss
I have heard you trample by and found only trails of Scottish blood
I don’t have the hate to forsake your name I have the world in my hand ready to turn it. I have the whole plaintive scene trapped in a state of perpetual grace.
I give it to you when it is finished and we saunter off in tears for love of mother
Will we be forever embarrassed about our soft hearts? Will we be forever ridiculed for our sensitive souls? I say yes and then say strike back. There is my hate do you hear it? By the way a stern wind blows. By the way an oil can soothe. By the way the sun can shine for one man on one day. By the way, all of the others will know that we have and wait. If I disgrace our divine position, came and seen them all, this time, stab me.
Let the saints sing, the people pray, let ‘slip the dogs of war’
Let me see what they did not understand.
Let me in to your house of power and change.
Let me in father it is cold here, in the vast recess of space.
Let us sing at night and drink to the love of mother

©2005 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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