Would You Know A Taste Bondage Poem by James McLain

Speaking in my sleep blackest of sheep
wool of the soul eyes of pink when ill.
Lambless heart of proffit drives the hand
hard chains sweet chest of dreams.

Your land takes the breath of bread the
wine it stains the face in halls of shame.
Garbed in splindid colors fashion pains
the arm hued muscled touches like'nd mind.

Rivers shift in magic night I run away to
know the feel of sand beneeth my foot.
Tendon cut the cain I wear of back the
welts are burried neeth the dirt my tears.

Extension word of rope the language hopes
milky eyes in love the lantern dims all days.
Music earned my mother yearns in wipeing
way our tears as well of cloth in others wore
to tell.

Many countries dust of print such many toes
sandles trod a crack in armor blanched.
Burdens life the pleasure packed to sooth
my souls so clutched in grasp he would
but know the window is the ink upon the land.