portable and small
lady of the island
your eyes are wild
these childish games
remain shallow
dream of truth
while compassion strangles
the way we drift from freedom
if success is defined
by what you know best
no more the blood of our fathers
oh sailor of the dark bottoms
with rusted beard and sandpaper
oh spirit guide me
and make me a being of truth
for the children of the dawn
time is knotted and webbed
in which the princess
doesn’t find her power
tossing and turning in fields of rye
all that matters is
dedication to the goal
burn your bank accounts
i dance to the music of the blind
for my father
held together despite the waves
so old and forlorn
it is his breath
that breathes
the forests back to life
gears turn
suspend judgement
and long words
throughout the day
show the world who you are
yet crying is the medicine
we need in order to become whole