Sermon On A Swing Poem by Auaduma Adookorn

Blessed are the downtrodden, whose
ego crumble under the jackboot of yoke--
for they will fall no more

Blessed are the poor, whose wealth
is their belly, for they have nothing
to lose but their desire

Empyrean hands touch my tongue,
i groove my grave with pen and ink
on the pages of paper

With the club of weight on my neck,
let me die an autumn seed, wake
a spring bud from my grave

Let me wait the sword of penury,
i will have nothing to lose
but my patience

Let me wait for dewdrop at dawn;
iwill water the seed grown
on my grave

It will nurse my patience,
array me in canvas of hope--
till poetry sculpt me on sand of time!