I Am... (Window Bare) - Poem by Eric Cockrell
words spoken with dark skinned hunger,
battles fought in the realm of the heart.
right and wrong that convicts the motive.
the smell and the feel of all that is common.
the question asked in the silent church.
the blood spillt on the courthouse steps.
the language of factories, mills, and shifts.
the cast iron skillet well seasoned.
the field plowed, the seeds planted.
the man standing against the angry mob.
the body hanging from the gnarled old oak.
the prison cell, the stink of fear.
the lovers lost inside each other,
the old woman staring at dishes just washed.
the haunting whisper of buildings vacant.
the old man's body found three days later.
the fury of the neon streets,
the deal made, the blade withdrawn.
the soldier come home to homelessness.
the farm foreclosed by the unseen bank.
death and life, and faded jeans,
the lone rose wilting in the window bare!
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You