The hairs on the back of my neck have stood
As straight as those ignorant proud;
My bones turned ice, my mussels wood,
To see such faith in the Obama crowd.
Like a dancers feet gone to goosestep
By some inexplicable urge
To do so… while truth, inept,
Pins me in its somber dirge.
An appropriate contemporary them so beautifully dealt...great language.10
Iin a tequila binge, f.i. even the mere mention of a sobering thought skins the indulgence alive
yet a lovely poem heart when in quest of saviour, wellpenned,10+, thanks forsharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nicee, not sure where ur going with this one.... im a little slow today, and dont know what dirge means.... but it was a pleasure to read