Weary of planning his next escape
an addict wants to outlive his condition.
But he is wary of moods not ruined
by expectations of danger on the horizon.
Bulletproof roses lay upon graves of the brave
providing the solace of better days.
But I remain motionless and weightless
Even as I swim through lakes of fire thinking the unthinkable.
As blacks arouse Anglo-Saxons to declare war on the blind
the idea that they could walk on water hand in hand
seems like the delirious incoherence of the presumed dead.
That's why I pray now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.
Among cliffs where a white eagle does pirouettes in the sky
There is a home for a lost boy
One who hears drumbeats announcing the next battle
One who sees tweed doing a sentimental war dance.
A red-faced son fights to leave his mother's womb
Cold air filtering through his lungs.
Things change lanes at the whisper of the sun
Blazing trails for my ink as my spirit sets sail.
I'm not afraid to fly my words to the moon.
It’s been a long time coming
this unveiling of my thoughts to the world.
Surely our hearts beat in the constancy of harmony.
With the prudence of solidarity
Living water liquidates my tribulations
as you rearrange the strings of my guitar.
No longer so worried about the path my fear is torn in half...
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 2:38 AM UTC
Weary of planning his next escape
an addict wants to outlive his condition.
But he is wary of moods not ruined
by expectations of danger on the horizon.
Bulletproof roses lay upon graves of the brave
providing the solace of better days.
But I remain motionless and weightless
Even as I swim through lakes of fire thinking the unthinkable.
As blacks arouse Anglo-Saxons to declare war on the blind
the idea that they could walk on water hand in hand
seems like the delirious incoherence of the presumed dead.
That's why I pray now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.
Among cliffs where a white eagle does pirouettes in the sky
There is a home for a lost boy
One who hears drumbeats announcing the next battle
One who sees tweed doing a sentimental war dance.
A red-faced son fights to leave his mother's womb
Cold air filtering through his lungs.
Things change lanes at the whisper of the sun
Blazing trails for my ink as my spirit sets sail.
I'm not afraid to fly my words to the moon.
It’s been a long time coming
this unveiling of my thoughts to the world.
Surely our hearts beat in the constancy of harmony.
With the prudence of solidarity
Living water liquidates my tribulations
as you rearrange the strings of my guitar.
No longer so worried about the path my fear is torn in half...
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Request permission to use this poem