posted by qrswave @ Thursday, December 21, 2006
As you return to the terrainOf home and family and writing…Call still on power to cease,To end its gripOn the throat of humanity…You spit it out as if poison,Wrenching the taste away…Like a lopped off limbStriking a dreary soundYou slice it deeply toward tyranny…You release it like a victim of rape,Shaking, fatigued, frantic, enragedCutting the air of privilege…You expel it like a thiefMoving stealthily, no outline,Save for the throb of unknown loss…You throw it to the page with imagination,A sword cutting its way through…And without prejudiceYou spatter.
Thanks, Poetryman - that's very moving.
Most welcome my friend...Peace.
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