I am my father's son
fruit of his loins
morning of many a night
an end to his travails
...
She has come to us
in the wispers of the dry tornado
that sweeps through the hills
and valleys of our hearts
...
A sacrificial lamb
lies ready
wisdom is tethered about its neck
so it dare not run
...
Here she lied
broken
on bare earth
face against the sun
...
In this darkness my mind peers
I behold men rendered blind
caressed by their own fears
fettered by their own kind
...
Will i be forgotten?
When my pen no longer bleeds
from a heart, drumming
the rhythms of love and passions
...
My face wears a reminiscent smile
yet i cry her a river
i see her walk down that glorious aisle
The Father, glad to receive her
...
the grandstand
graced with greed
a design of deprivation
a backdropp of betrayal
...
We were but victims
to seduction
bamboozled by our lusts
again and again
...