Kevin J. Robins
Copyright 2004
For you were born with hopes to engage.
You have been chosen to be liberators of this land
You will be cleansors of humanity's blood-stained hands.
In years of past battles have been fought,
Wars have been started, and valor has been sought.
Children and elders, peasants and knaves,
Have perished in battle, but not in vain!
For if we look to those days for the merits of war,
Through all the lives, that have died by the sword
An ocean of sorrow, dread, might, and sin
Love will finally conquer, and change our direction.
The blood pumping,
Pumping in veins so blue
Or is it something else
That day by day
Gives life anew?
The minds, the thoughts,
The ideas that decide to continue!
For in some distant day
Of which no lips can say:
The blood dries and the body dies,
But forever in life,
The dreams lie.
Blue-green calm of the north Pacific,
The prairies and the ghettos,
The tundra and the desert.
Its light reaches the proud savannahs
Of central Africa, the snow-capped
Mountains of Siberia, and the lush
Green cloud forest of Central America.
But what of this matter?
Do not the other eight planets count
The rising sun in their own deserts, storms,
Mountains and canyons?
The beauty that the sun does rise
Lies solely in our watching eyes.
For what of art that remains unseen
Worthless measures, unfit to dream!
With compromising chaotic chorus.
The words wrap the wrath of wraiths
While poor babies bounce balls in the boondocks.
Let me tell you about the freak show genocide
That suppresses the saintly shadows' sayings,
Shackling their limbs with logic and languid lullabies
With the defunct daily dose of demoralization.
The freedom...
The freedom...
At what expense?
The freedom...
The freedom...
Spare no expense!
Carnivorous stock brokers trade lives for dough
And sixty-something Steven still finds the rough grime of death
Between his calycled prime-time daily news channel flippin' nails.
And America...
America...
Still loves her own.
America...
America...
Still ain't found home.
Because, yes, stonewall silent Steve can still succeed,
But the dime and five suicide hold your breath make it alive salary
Tears his hole infested HMO approved corazon
A little...more...each...day.
He's tried to come back,
We've tried to live.
Fading my celestial brothers
Into the ebony abyss.
How I yearn for the days of youth
Where in the open field
I would gaze at my sparkling friends.
Thousands of beautiful stars
Filling the somber night sky
With flaring luminescence.
But not here.
Even when the night is clear
The moon can claim few companions.
The fingers of my hands outnumber
My shining sisters
As Milwaukee awaits the coming dawn.
Woman of beauty
Hair flowing
Breeze blowing
Sits staring at the beach.
Beside her a man
A detailer prestige
Eyes closing
Doubts posing
A culture's disease.
The poet stands up
Overcome by the sound
Waves crashing
Sunlight splashing
And begins a fair song.
"Red fires of sun
How you dance
In the dawn,
Melting in ocean
As lovers so young."
Your loving embrace
Has showered
Us blessings
And life!"
Annoyed by the song
The doubter moves on,
And opens
His eyes
To the sand.
A speech he does speak
For songs,
Are so meek!
And he stares at the
Grains of the shore.
"Listen young hag
Just look at this shore!
Or have you eyes to see?
The white beach grains
Ugly, bland!
Clash with those of gold!
Her neck touches file
And yet her smile remains.
"Speak, speak
Young hag
Why do thee grin?
When this shore
Be sin of granule
Im-perfection!"
"Why, why
Just speak
Or god you shall meet!
Why? WHY!
She drops to her knees
Flies the sand with the breeze
And answers the man's desperate call.
"My dear sir, haven't you heard?
That is the beauty of it all."