Hail to the Sunrise

Hail to the sunrise.
I offer up this man,
When the battle has been won,
So that you may wake up to
A better world;
My new self.
Esch thought and choice
That is made today
Will be yours.
I, this setting sun, am your gift,
This sword left
Sharpened just before I died
That you may kill again.
Oh, warrior of the morning light,
May you pass through doors
I will never see and find peace
I have never known.
I dedicate this gift of me to you.
Hail to the sunrise.

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The ball

Dancing red dresses and
Black trousers, sung by the dozen,
Promises of dreams to come
For a life no one leads.
The punch has come,
Filling heads with the brothers gin
But you know, no one can feel it.
So you take another drink,
Another shot at comfortably numb.
The worm at the bottom is still alive,
Feeding on your soul
And feeding you with desire,
That it may live on your screams
As you awake in the coldest sweat.
You’re here, homo not so sapiens,
Better be called homo sperans –
The man who longs.
And tomorrow, or next week, or next month,
You matriculate,
A master in intersecting desire,
Knowing your place,
Your dreams, the man who aspires.

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New song

There’s a wind in your eyes that blows
Across the high plains of the world,
Whispering the stories of soon to be forgotten
Dead men and women who no longer
Worship at the feet of boddhisattvas.
Then you tell me your name,
And how it is said in your village.
Like the spirits called forth for
The dalai lama’s trance
I learn that you have no last name.
You are just as you are.
You are the one who sits at a table of fried eggs
Across from pretend italian pasta,
The one who stands firm on the soil of her ancestors,
The one who won’t forget.
You are the new song
That sings the world.

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