Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.

With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.

With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.

They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.

All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.

A ***** they said
should lower his head.

Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.

If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?

Bravery isn't
a word for the ****,
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.

I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.

Their plan
was to ****,
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.

They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.

Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.

So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.

They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.

So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.

That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.

This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.

I don't want to think about you
But i don't think nothing other than you

If i could be anything in this whole wide world,
I'd be your tear drop.
Born in your eyes,
live on your cheeks
and die on your lips

When life is asleep
And my only company is Lady Lightning
And Madame Thunder
I sit wondering
If the rain against my window
Has ever trickled down yours
If the water that soaked my clothes as I walked home
Has ever run down your face
And reached your eye
A tear in reverse.

Are you seeing the same bolts of lightning that I am?
Does the light give a faint glow to your night
Where it illuminates the dark for me?
Do you hear this thunder growling?
Can you hear it shouting its presence?
Would you hear me shouting your name?
Would my voice carry over this emptiness?

Would you listen?

The rain is fading
Yet the thunder still calls
And dear God does it sound like your voice.

She has ink dripping
from her lips. He blames
that on the poetry she
drinks after each and
every kiss she gives to
him on his cheeks and
ribs. Sometimes in his
mouth as she claims that
it's her cathedral and the
only place where she
confesses all of her darkest
sins. He sends kisses down
her spine. As if it holds the
knobs to the doors of her
fragile broken soul. Hoping
that each kiss will lead him
in. This is the story of where
their new life begins. There
tangled in the sheets of his
warm cozy bed. And that was
the moment when they both
paused and said the best is yet
to come. And our young love
will live on and on* ~