Sunshine for Spineless Swines
Speak of the devil and sweat buckets full of sweet wine.
Nothing goes past vain youth, or veiny old broads talking through the grapevine.
Muttering , mumbling, gossiping or god forsaken straight ass bitchin.
Sitting hungry, an empty plate, tabletop, kitchen.
Everyday for them folk’s not a bountiful day.
Trust they'd sweet talk you, lather you up, with charming sway.
Save face, my integrity won’t be jeopardized, there ain’t no way.
Hence dash, sprint, I flee from there, to get away.
Barren land under blaring sun, lying in a barn on beds of hay.
Where does the wind blow, or these legs face, hypocrisy won’t consume me and see through these eyes the light of day.
Ain’t I poetic, ain’t I always ready to play?
Meet me in the middle where it isn’t ever black and white, but gray.
Lament old love, memories revisit, with teeth clenched, refrain from swaying that way.
Before you go ahead, wake me up from this dream, nudge me “HEY!”
Let me just say, that I pray.
But not to a god, but a world that could become a cradle.
Nurturing cradle for kids that in time waltz out in pairs and say “Okay!”
Dance to a rhythm, orchestrated by a new conviction, the next generation ensemble.
Where the colorful shades of people wash away, under break of new day.
