splintered wood
sweat channels laced with blood
a face viewing true darkness
pale death and a father who will not gaze downward
future dillisions of graneur, and a world that
refutes that which it is based on.
as confusion leads to apathy
the sweat evaporates,
and the blood begins to satin the wood
the veil is torn as bodily functions cease
a world that dosent care.
an institution of granite and limestone
a heart that still beats
spawning new life
perpetuating the tradition of being persecuted
the wood, now a decaying thorn in my flesh
the pain is still fresh though the stigma
had been there so long we are now symbiotic
some have surrendered to the stigma,
while others have removed it
i do not live life for it,
but i will never remove it.
C. Brown 11-30-99

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