spirit

i am without head
even though i feel not dead.
maybe waking up?

dark is the mind’s night
as my eyes see no more light.
my soul in full fright.

why are all dead men
celebrated and faultless?
do the bad not die?

today is the day
when the champions compete.
and the losers to.

there are some people
who lack the love of country.
our lost citizens.

there is a garden.
and i sit at her feet
and pick the daisies between her toes.

there are roses for sharon
though they do not smell as sweet.
for the gristle and meat buried at her feet.

and the weeping willow
as the wind brushes her hair.
i belive i can hear… there there.

the spiny pine.
long in the tooth poking the sky
showering me with sticks for my blind eye.

and the stones under my bones
the grass brown and worn.
the carpet i’ve trodden the flowers i’ve torn.

and in the shaking thunder
and the the needles of lightning.
the leaves are thrashing and oh so frightening.

where i sit and i stand
in a place called no man’s land.
the blackness and the bloodness… ain’t it grand?