I do not know
if there is a truth
to words astray
how the stream flows
we stare at time
wonder
how motives, ambition,
passion, and sex can drive us
into killing
deeply
like a blade of words
a sword of our love
as we swing
slash
in the downpour
walk to the chirps
of the cardinal bird
then I look to my left
1977
signs everywhere
of you and I
in heaven.
Dead Kennedys speak up
your crowd is dwindling
mine has forgotten the path
searching for the latest trends
while I relive the old wrath
trekking to Mont Royal
taking the gravel road
to the Cross.
Again
the same initials
scream out at me
and Of course I wonder
you would too.
What else am I left to do?