contemplativeThose Who Prey
The echoes of my loss
pain and past anguish
repeat in the canyons
of youth's outcoming.
I'll tell you the ones
who met me between the years
who took their pound of flesh
left me wise but broken man.
Father Time is a junky
wanting to hit again
high on hard lessons
from traveler's hide.
The dues must be paid
if the traveler will pass by
marks on the prison wall
memories of passing through.
I wish you better
blessings I did not have
God's favor visited
where the Devil I met.
Survival was my path
though Lucifer had his due
wreckage in the rear view
as I grin and bear.
She is a wicked one
with lessons for every soul
Mother Earth asks her due
blood to grow the weeds.
Briars are the greenery
in fields where sorrows grow
lessons learned at the cost
of the gardeners made to toil.
Scoundrels are this lot
gatekeepers of a mortal life
with the sun comes the rain
these will provide the pain.
I'll end my tale to the young
ask them to forgive what comes
a living hard time blues
at the hands of those who prey.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160627.
