There is pain to slavery
yet there is comfort, too
The lash bites, the shackles rub
but you are safe
safe from decision
safe from care and worry
the evening meal is always there
Of what value is courage?
What is the currency of freedom?
What can they buy a slave?
A quick death;
or a long one
starvation, homelessness, care and worry,
Why, then, this restlessness?
From where comes these urgings?
A whisper in my sleeping ear?
A waking vision, a day dream?
Who is this that says “Follow Me”?
A demon, a fantasy, a fever?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I don't know what's gotten into me. Poetry really isn't my style.