The gift given
At the strike of your dawn
Is energy
An investment of currency
Like the lost coins of Kisiwani
A permanence only temporarily yours
Conductive masters who school you
To contort a straight world askew
And refuse slavery to squandering hands
That object to the subjugation
To feverish dreams
Come to life in anxious schemes.
Masters will be free of your grave
If you abandon your heart's wave
Leaving you to the last breath
With nothing to pay the ferrier of death
5/1/13
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Typed Word Series
PoetryWords connect all of us. Through laughter, memories, or ridiculous melancholy, we are what we say and what we write. TWS differs from WWS in form only. These are poems longer than 7 lines, allowing a little more freedom in exploring themes and more...
