In stasis...
to say stable would be a stretch.
Tires spinning, unmoving.
if I were angry
would I be a wretch?
I've called myself alot of things;
a phoenix in a bottle,
a bird with no wings.
The flavours of my language elude me,
and their metaphors pursue me
like chick under hawk.
I've seen Braveheart,
and I've heard the Bard.
I've watched Napoleon fall
from the comfort of my couch.
To dodge the light fantastic, I'd say...
I've felt God on a cross;
in a ditch, at a loss
for a description of His petri dish,
He who made us...
Who gave us the right to get Him wrong,
I think He listens to every song.
and yes, I think He cries for me,
as I swing my fists, wishing I could see.
