May 20, 2003

Once I wore a rod of steel
That showed eternal promise
I christened it John the Baptist
Now I call it doubting Thomas!

Lovely the spring
And how it treats young girls like underlings
Like early leaves
Looking for their first gust of wind
Through the frisky branches that give birth to soft limbs
The nest is not yet cold
The bird is not yet him
The flight was undersold
And the smiles of women blushing and blooming
Are the burst before the light goes dim
It is the last pure Grace
He will see
Until the next brick falls
From new Jerusalem

I inquired what the price is
To always be in crisis
As if a double pisces
Dried out, smoked and cut in slices
And chewing up the floor like dices
(I know, it's ok, I have poetic licence!)

Roses were heaven's gift to
the colour red
for all the blood it was
willing to shed
to pour into rivers of time
dreadlocks ripped by thorns
were bled
I was there when the petals
were gifted
I was there when the
crimson tide was lifted
and sang high praise to Shiva
as my chemistry shifted

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