Old mans hands Were charmed
Balancing as a bird on tree limbs
Flowing through a song as if he wrote this for her heart
Bellowing in deep decibels he begins to shatter
Trembling in site of broken faces
Pounding hammers on his once bright skyline
Casting black shadows against his walls and ***** floors


The world is a spinning canvas of articulate brushes
Partially to blame for backdrops of darkness
Well aware of colors hiding ,behind voices
Elbows on tables of sadness, rusted or splintered
Tacked down under the dock, of high tides of self pity
Lack there of compassionate crows
on heavy shoulders of Druids

I look down and see the shadow of a pelican
Flowing and gliding across the open water
I dare to look up in amazement at His Eyes
Staring at me
I trust he is flying for me, I start to believe
His Presence of strength  and Pressures to dream.
Something to fight for
For if not! Then this revolution I search for
is just a war ...