Monday, September 14, 2009

This Imperial Blonde War Burns Under a Crimson Moon


This Imperial Blonde War Burns Under a Crimson Moon

I am in the hive
standing on lions of stone

seeking guidance from
a twisted olive branch

holding a laughing axe
unable to swing

my arm is frightened
like a dried gourd

my heart beats fast
lips are dead leaves

feet push through
clipped angel wings

a line in the blood-soaked sand
writ by a severed hand

a bee dances
the way to the flower


Randolph Nesbitt

Posted over on Poets Against The War

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