Battle Colors
The Patriot lays me down on soil and bloody ground.
The fingers of his dying men are caressing me,
As if they do not feel their pain.
I am the angel, the dirty angel.
Battle cries! Battle moans.
Sweet Johnny goes down on me.
Blood prints trace the path of his dying wish,
- I can't help him now.
His metal jabs my thigh.
The Patriot says, "Be silent or they'll hear you."
They will smell me, and they will hurt me.
So I sing, "Hush, Hush" to my womb
To seal the rips and tears and tears.
Mister Soldier got smacked in the back with a grenade,
They only push him aside and love me deeper.
I am too young for Death to worry their pretty minds.
I darn socks in my head and dream the housewife dream.
The Red River is born in my belly
Of Tom, Dick, Harry! and the Patriot?
He doesn't want me.
He has a clean girl waiting for him at home,
Waving in a White Dress,
Frantically searching for something Blue.
Well, you can give her my tear
Wrapped gently in these American flag panties.
Tell her it's a wedding present from the angel!
Poetic Personal Profile
Resides in: the Perfumes of Memories
Hobbies: Mental Projections- Richard Bach style
Occupation: Vibrational Theorist (specializing in socks
and conch's)
Studying: to become a Physical Dematerialization Specialist
Personal Saying: I am not seeking the perfect, but the
complete.
Favorite Quote: "Children kneeling, praying for? They
don't know.
Seeing is believing, have you seen your soul?
Finding pieces scattered on the floor,
elders seeking what they thought they had before..."
-Lyrics from the band DollyBraid