Ronald Stuart Thomas
I am a man now.
Pass your hand over my brow.
You can feel the place where the brains grow.
I am like a tree,
From my top boughs I can see
The footprints that led up to me.
There is blood in my veins
That has run clear of the stain
Contracted in so many loins.
Why, then, are my hands red
With the blood of so many dead?
Is this where I was misled?
Why are my hands this way
That they will not do as I say?
Does no God hear when I pray?
I have no where to go
The swift satellites show
The clock of my whole being is slow,
It is too late to start
For destinations not of the heart.
I must stay here with my hurt.
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Comments about this poem (Here by Ronald Stuart Thomas )
- Fun never runs out!, PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- The Passing Winds, Tex T Sarnie
- Too Few Words, Tex T Sarnie
- Wake up!, Md. Asadullah
- viper kiss, aaron jimenez
- बहाना/ Bahaanaa, Aftab Alam
- a dream, jaquesha webb
- I Go Far to Fetch the Truth, with Hope, Aftab Alam
- One a.m., Susan Lacovara
- The War Against Lopping, douglas scotney
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