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Living on Something Dead
If I could make your sins mine,
Would you still seek compassion?
If I was his friend
When he was mine
But only because I had none
Could he have been saved at all?
If he had reached out
To the victim of something
That I was
Could he have understood?
If I was touched by something else
Would touch remember the death?
Innocence shed
When the blood that would have come
Has been absorbed into a swollen heart
Arrogant with feeling
And caught up with everything but logic.
From one end of the park to the other
Through old trees
That try to resemble peace
Without inflicting the cruelty of suburbs
Were white people live
Indifferent to the pain of a ghetto
Some would say is made of minorities.
Some would call empires
The home of emperors
This empire crowns an emperor
As the Queen of England
Rests with nothing assured
In this easy life of hers.
In this easy life of mine
Dynasties of thought breed into each other
What I held dear yesterday
Has slowly melted into my plans for survival.
The morals I remember
Aren’t holding up to spines anymore.
What was so fresh
Is curdling into something
That just might make me
Who I will be
When the death allows life.
