Shoulder length sorrow
With burning red waves of personal hell
Clapping loud echoes scratch these ancient cave walls
Paintings of misfortune where events rhymed without stall
A foreign ministers eyes stare naked with his one and only truth

I recall a former life that
When mouthed curdled the finest milk
Reverberates with a chill that makes father
Question at His twilight hour if He has ever been here
There or at the house that He could not believe He had owned

Mentioning the heroes of my youth
Seeing the way they hold their finest truths
Relaxing knee deep in a scorched whiskey filled pool
Laying back in the sun as thoughts turn to words and words
Turn to parchment crucified by the heavy set mindless believers

But here underneath a childish roof
Holding my head wet with no chance of a bet
Watching saviors on TV giving their last chance to sell
Beckoning youthful minds to plow fields with only their hands
Catching an arm against a tree to act as if it is all according to a plan

Lost without a paddle atop no stream
Drowned within the desert above the suns beam
Careening cracked fingers sting as they touch the dried mud
The natives are getting restless as they continue to build their huts
Nigh the night sets and the sun will rise as the tide crashes as I breath and I sigh