| Written: OCT 23, 2003 |
Undeniably rapped and left
for dead by our new regime.
I’m granted not enough blessings
to sustain this fetid existence.
And perhaps it is inevitable Doom
to bathe lastly in green;
boiling blood coating jade grasses,
as emerald as the lined riches’ pockets.
Asking a brief respite,
a pagan prayer against economics
that I might attain once more under me
my footing, to again…again
be blessed and thriving.
Trading my life, disrespected,
for a handful of birds,
or the dreaded Southern green.
Will this grant me my freedom?
This to me remains to be seen.
