John I Nash

As I reach my boat I hear the clanking of the halyard against the mast, a sound I have longed to hear music to my ears. Excitement builds as I calmer aboard and make ready my boat for the adventure she and I will share.

Knowing wind to my stern will ease my departure, boom to port tiller pushed away to my starboard she knows her way now, this Philly of the sea. Jib starboard Main to the port we sail wings in front of the wind.
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Golden is the color of this fellow.
Golden is his smile that makes me mellow.
Golden is his heart that has captured mine for all time.
Golden is his loyalty, in all his regal royalty.
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Muffled cries of hurt pride, Hawaii's people have not died, but are treated so by many a foe. The tears no longer flow as though the native's eyes were the dried stream beds of Maui that do not allow the taro to grow.
Token wages given to the many, while alien few reap riches from the culture that they have stolen. Treated as a slave, sold to the highest bidder, their heritage is on negligent display this very day and every day.
Once proud and self-sufficient, now dependent like a child of an abusive parent, that steals the riches of it's offspring. No queen, no King, they have all been put in the ground. Should they see this day their sadness would be so profound. In the Hawaiians prayers they ask for sovereignty that can not be found.
Language embezzled, from a population of the nation for homogenization. Sacred rituals and images defiled, ancient Gods demeaned by the unqualified. Long practiced traditions, sold as distractions by the few, at the expense of the many.
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While I sleep, in my sleep, up the stairs it creeps.
Step by step coming closer yet.
Down the hall in the fog of it all, , ever so quietly, not to be see or heard.
Upon the door it hears my snore, turning the knob softly.
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I saw a stray today, he was walking in the middle of the road, he looked lost and had no where to go.

With my car I followed behind him at a snail's pace, flashing my lights as I drove what an awful sight.
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At night when it is cold outside, I hear them coming into my attic, scratching at the wall to make entry one and all. The patter of little feet across the ceiling never seems to cease.

What are they doing up there, a party at my expense, that is what makes sense. Do they sing and dance or do they just prance.
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The soft cry of a newborn child, to this I subscribe.

The warmth of a mothers guiding hand, no other feeling like it in the land.
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The star shown bright through the darkness.

A sign that showed that someone cared to send his only Son on this night. To save us all, he has come with heart pure white, born of a virgin innocent and bright.
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Physicians true blue, most hard working through and through.

They try to heal and not feel no heart, no compassion, that is the fashion, they employ not to destroy hope, but that is what they do through an through.
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Nostrils flaring he dances and prances, mounted rider in all colors, the smell of leather he has no tether now!

To the gate he is brought, eyes blazing no gazing, a spring to be sprung, an arrow to be shot, a bullet to be fired this is his desire only to run.
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