We need all the love
in the world
And must pretend
we need nothing.
We need a mother’s
Warm arms to hold us
so tightly
and are told “no”
we must not care.
Holding back is
a way of life
until the spaces
shrink
into a cramp
Pain leaps out, rage
pours into the streets
guns blaze and wars
begin again.
The poverty of men
the calf tied for slaughter
watching from glassy
eyes
options diminishing, gone
the ropes pull tighter.
What would it take
For poverty to grow
Into riches?
A fall into the river?
A night of drumming?
To shed cocoons at last?
Man,
look into your damaged heart
the blood leaks out
trickles down a starched shirt.
Here it is! The final moment!
But your lips
are still tightly pressed together
in a murmur of pride. denial
even as you see your sons
run from you
with sword in hand
Their saddened dreams
singing your funeral songs.
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