I Promise The Fire Poem by John Courtney

I am opening my eyes to let them see,
their body led by foreign mules;
a signpost trampled by leaders, my voice
trying to check into the wrong world,
a miserable child tugs impatiently
on the cheapening prize of my flesh,
the crucified shadow holds me up
where perfect roses are born for marble,
her thorns are iron gates that city my light.

Darkness holds a door for the roads
outside my mind, the soul has its spies
with motors running on the edges of pages
that turn into wings if I can slaughter the mules.

Please help, I am not suicidal,
but need assistance to hide my body,
a place where my mother sits young
in the grass and I sit on her lap;
the funnel cake breeze that styles
my hair, a Sears portrait auctioned
without notice by the speeding suns
and moons elected in tampered vote,
a place to find the fireworks
in the mason jars of my eyes.

I am tied to the train tracks
and waiting to board the train,
I am closing my eyes to let them see,
praying you'll be on the platform
of a world that waves me home,
I'm taught that I am leaving
when the fireworks are over,
I will do my best to slaughter the mules,
but need your help where I am weak,
your pity where I am here.