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611 · Aug 2014
The Herd
Dahí Jim Aug 2014
The herd enjoys it when tongues whack in rhyme
The master’s clap beats on not far behind
Mine and my lady try not to resign
To politics that bloat and tar the mind

While not far from here a tyre whines
The traffic crawls to break its broken spines
The plates and doors drag you in for more
And they’ll pay you the minimum, Son, to suffer their clack and roar

You’ll see the ghost of tenderness
Hidden underneath
The rolling iron hail
Calling out for peace

You’ll hear the labyrinth engine crack
And groan and freeze
And throw smoke in the face of the King
As he falls on blunted knees

But you can find solitude and ***
In your humble lover’s nest
And boy you best let beauty and grace
Into your bones

It’s okay to feel undone
Not quite at home
But reconcile yourself to know
Your soul has seeds unsown

You’ll see the star-tossed lake at ease
The nimble breathing trees
And the dew-drops dance from branch to branch
And shake the leaves

You’ll hear the gentle whisper of dawn
The robin’s hallowed song
And see yourself for the man you’ve always been
All along

The one with no regrets
No promised safety nets
No promised anything beyond the stage
And an ink-soaked hand

No compromise or hate
No gift of heaven’s gate
No way to know
But just the will, the will, the will

— The End —