The lad jumps over the fence Into the veiling darkness, dense A dead man’s blood adorns his shirt A hasty marriage made with dirt His thought flies to his treasures And how they’d soothe his pleasures Escape drew nigh, sounds of jingle bells Alas, a cop sighted him, a bullet rattled him And he passed on yonder like a dream She stands by the dark road that night Her scanty garbs too leaky, too tight The car parked by, bargain was struck And into the smoky car she’s neatly tuck On the radio played the jingle bell As they drove to where I cannot tell By morn they found her headless trunk Shamelessly smiling on a pile of junk Xmas pay itched in his pockets Eyes red and rolling in their sockets ‘lets gyrate, its xmas’, he rants His voice drowning the xmas chants Beer vanished down his thirsty canal Out staggered words raw and carnal Drunk he enters his car, home to drive I swear, home, he never reached alive Yet its xmas they all sa
Showing posts from December, 2011
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This violin is my pen, I am the player. I use this tune to ink teary words. I peel my haunted soul – each layer– As I make my song on these chords. See not my tears as salt waters– They are are but rivers of seasoned grief. They flow for me, for sons and daughters: Silent but pregnant with unbirthed grief. I have seen thirst standing in the river; Hungry I've been, standing in the barn. Where some have smiled, there I quiver; Orphan I am, I look for my father's arm. I slow no tune to make you somnolent- But my voice shall tear down walls. I am knight. I string my lance, my instrument: Listen, a troubled soul, helpless, calls.