gentle bird of the wilderness,
summer shore of rust
and gold,

the sky with her swift clouds of mist,
her blue-greys,
and her stormy wings,
beyond beautiful.

with all the strength of my
heart, i open the stormy
door of your love,
i cry and cry to find you,

a rough wind that blows with
your storm, aches and
gives way,

your ghosts the quietest
of stars.

Whitewashed fences mark
the division of shallow lines
of demarcation marring a bitter plain

Truth that too can be seen
as a balance with bruised knees
whispering prayers of bent supplication

Looking for a smile seen in clouds
of judgment and blurred hazes

The drum beats of life and echoes still,
in cracked addicted alleys of fairness
gone awry with a broken wheel
spinning on a loom of time

Native pains and naive indiscretions inexcusable, earth telling a compelling
tale if you can dig your hand in the dirt

Seeking through the mire for truth
and tales long since buried in the sands
of time, which whisk away history,
books burned with lies full of distaste

Imprinted on impressionable minds
like miscreant clones sprung
from fanatical factories

Indoctrinated with false education
and breeding still more hate, echoing,
listening to the heartstrings playing
a concerto of truth, an aria of sad realism

A beating of a drum
that has long since been silenced
by an oppressive, regressive hand

These times give me fear when courage
is what is needed most, post haste

Hate seems to be in such a fury
hurrying at a madman's pace.

Sitting upon a grassy field
Sounds of laughter around
There he sits still as stone
Eyes a glassy wonder

Again at home upon his bed
Headphones off
Staring straight ahead
Many times mom has called
Never hearing above the drone

hate
****
hurt
fear

whispers said unto his ear...

::::::::::::::::::::::::


Nary a frog croaks
terra cotta garden lamp
selfishly, glows dim.

a striped gastropod
stretched longer, out of its shell
braver....in the dark

neighbors' dogs howl deep,
gecko sings its night songs loud
bats crash...swoop their prey.....

unseen black cats cross
there's no wind, yet...leaves rustle
shadows multiply

the dark feeds the mind
superstition lives...it breathes
moon hides...........i shall, too...


Sally

copyright September 22, 2017
rrab