Freedom Never

Poem, of loss

Touching in agreement
Nimrod squats again and
Nero's reached his violin:
turn the wheel's to grist provide
us, meal to homage, now as then.

One that is not, and yet is, has been,
decried, the continual stroke, and
yoked a smite o'ar living / dead: Again.

So tender is the wicked place
mommy's all... a touching
in the throat presides
the jaw, where every child is called,

O'ar amber waves a shadow comes
'neath beautiful and spacious skies
purple mountains fall and fall
inside our clutching souls to hope
while angels ride and nightmares lope

to every one, is none at all: to only cry
O'ar amber waves a shadow comes,
we never saw Communions' cup
hanged, gardens longed, their hasty loss
still richly written, on that wall.

Liberty's our bell, now lastly struck.
lo : Our freedom's ring, and ring, and
wrung, we sing with dignity

Alone: for naught
"O, precious child, of mine,
How shall I give thee up?"