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Mark Lecuona Jun 2015
He thought about right and wrong; but
it didn’t seem to matter to the wolves
that gathered their forces against an elk
whose merciless death lent red contrast
to their mouths and the snow that fell
silently upon reality

As everyone scrambles for their ancient
texts and what was painstakingly copied by
the counting of each symbol, the strength
to reach into a dead animals heart to
find what if what was meant by survival
of the fittest included God’s word

He felt so far ahead of his time though
he really lived in the past; he saw laughter
he could not hear and cries he hoped
would not last, but to be happy about
simple things meant solace in the silence
of creativity

He preferred the shackles of rebellion rather
than the freedom of acquiescence, but when
veins burst, choking on words that insist upon
opening in the presence of  those who cannot
understand there is nothing he could do except
part the clouds with a trumpet blast

Imperialistic words invade happy moments
As you allow his saber to leave its sheath; we
slowly rub the tips of our fingers across the blade
fully realizing our power yet we only clinch our
teeth; there is too much to lose as we no longer
sleep on a sofa contemplate the dawn of madness

We want to be relevant and only see it in the eyes
of our children but he will let anger boil away all
helplessness; there is no test considered worthy
of a lifetime; he wanted love to be true but who
will really know; it made him wonder if it is for
him or for you

Love became a dark alley where discarded cards
go but he could not be defeated because he plays
no game; you see squares, circles and lines while
he sees space, emptiness and backgrounds; there
is no recognizable pattern that induces confinement
and not one moment of shrewd calculation

He spent money with no thought of tomorrow, no
evidence of presence, but he’s been through that
and what is left are images, spaces and empty places
filled with long ago wonder as he found it was better
to climb a fence than pay the toll for the memory of
a moment of freedom was worth the cost

— The End —