Word of the Rising Sun
Like an erstwhile Ethiopian
they say Christ will return again
Bury me standing for like myths
of the King I will come again
born on the whirlwind of the continuum
bearing tales in blood memory
of struggle waged infinitely
to bring the light to a tardy
to bed night to mid wife
the birth of third sight
to stem the tide of won’t know
see the path but don’t go
Any day the spirit rises will be a Sunday
All eyes open seeking The One way
Possibility jumps off the back of one day
into the arms of another as doors close
windows open
Only hope and struggle are truly eternal
The former resides in my heart
To the latter I have given my hands
One,
Word
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