adachef

We watched "The Patriot" last night.

the spirals of the skilled
sink into the pens of
marks men. with smallness

is permission granted.

"you may make your mark"

they mock, feeling

sinfully superior as the sun's beads

of salty sweat drips into the

crevasses of their fat fingers.

the blackness of color on

the pages rejoice as they quietly blend with tears.

finished timing's value slides past

the tongue of pleasure.

only heavy hate holds its head.

the lead feet drag their master's life.

higher steps defeat all despairing doubts

while the soul soars above the slicing rope.

a solitary tear down a darkened face

refuses to reflect the true color of its own.