Goats eat and **** the grass of ramparts,
stupefied cannons sit, garrisoned sentries
primed for nights of buccaneers,
seared by centuries of sun. Down shadowed
cobblestoned tunnels fortified shutters
covet rifle forend and barrel,

wresting rumored slave rebellions
from the locker of history,
while languid waves whisper indifferently
a roll call of human cargo,
chattel displaced, cast to the sea.

Here history sways to sounds
of brown skinned children
at play in breakers,
laughing, shrieking, thrashing,
buoyed by time to this vaulted brick
reverberating chamber,

here a window’s light is cast
beckoning vision past the beach,
to seek the horizon Icarus like,
to fly towards beauty in terror where
an azure sky conjoins a turquoise bay.


Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

i stood in the fortress of your love
to guide and protect you
from being blue,
to keep you safe
from being strafed
by all the lines you have encountered
and at the end of the war
you stood far
with another girl
and never looked back
at the girl who wore black
who protected
and collected
all of your broken parts
and kept it inside her heart.

Looking in to the mirror of forever,
through the shattered remnants of the past and the future.
Longing for something that can never be conquered.
Like the fortress of euphoria that the heavens cover.

In a cloudy, eerie midnight darkness,
where only starlight illuminates the sky's broadness.
I venture to the realm of never ending sadness.
only to fall prey to hungry hyena's of loneliness.

As every part of myself shred to bits and pieces,
blood and tears shed for my own helplessness.
I started to realize that the tears are not for the pain of ruptures,
but for the pain of the heart that has loss it's purpose.

As I lie down and weep to the pain of loneliness and sadneness.
The sky's cleared up, moonlight shines the heaven's darkness.
I conclude that this is just part of the consequences,
of whether I really deserve to be in the euphoric fortress.

Ladies help define men to stride to be better,
And us men without our equal are prisoned in a soundless white room,
With sensation and voices dulled by empty cup.

The walk without the need to go places,
And the time stopped without her presence,
While searching for something tangible to grasp.

We men are mortified walkers,
Without a purpose or cause,
And lambs of the butchery robbed of shepherds.

We need our guidance,
Soul stone of our pathway.

The woman of our lives are our equal,
The voices where men can have sanctuary,
Our inner solidarity and piece of solice.

They are our inner home,
Our kingdom of fortitude,
The fortress of our essence.

Be our courage
When life is frightening,

Be our strength
When we are weak.

Be our peace
When everything crumbles,

Be our portion
When we are empty.

Be our fortress
When flood waters rise,

Be our song
When our vision dies,

Be starvation
When life is a feast,

Be our way,
Our truth, and our life.