Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Sonnet #11

They say he died for our sins but everyone dies
When bullets and nails and rope and rogue cells come
The measure is not what death and what price
There is always a price, always a lake and a millstone

He was only a man, what miracle was great enough?
A few people suffered less, that's not nothing, but
the suffering of trillions in time, hurt raw and rough
Give me the miracle that ends all pain and debt

They say it's coming, that miraculous day of peace
a marble dropped into a sea, a rippling wave
I say fly away, pretty bird, fly away, find the place
Where the juniper grows through storms, be brave

Fly away, pretty bird, fly away where sunlight sings
Fly away, pretty bird, fly away, where find your rising

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