by Youngbear Roth

Created on: April 13, 2010   Last Updated: July 11, 2010

-I

Revolution covers its tracks
Insinuated covertly to the naked eye
Taskmaster to a single cell
The keeper of the lantern since the beginning of time
Insisting monolithic stone, breaking small pebbles
Thriving as the great tree, flying earth's firmament
Lapping salt water at the shores of Eden
Instinctive within beast and Adam and Eve
Commanding the garden
Waiting, directing our crossing

From rocky somnambulism to harmonic consciousness
Death forever attending a birth of spirit.

Nature's bridge, a celestial, cosmological cycle
Of humankind dynamic, growing, demanding our fear
Finally revealing bellies and legs spread-eagled
Wet above the night, along its ancient journey
Taking aim with broken shoulders, contorted eyes
Munching on Milky Way bars
Breathing high in its chest a crumbling metropolis
Baying for its dictator, its chief of staff
Leaking thousands of dead batteries, sixty-year-old bumpers
Innumerable rusted hubcaps clattering through jungles
Taunting mad dogs snarling in far off corners of the earth
Pissing a stain under inspirational stars intended for love
Setting souls ablaze with quiet horror like funeral pyres
Floating down the river Ganges
Smiling through the gold teeth of fourteen year old men
While our women bleed and miscarry
Our doctors fighting, rotting, losing toes inside their
Boots
Revolution, we say, rides the spine of Darwinian belief.

Painfully alone, early in the game
Youth grows through an ancient process
As develops our cosmos
The yin and yang of navigating a deep gorge
A cavernous gash throughout one's life
And how long shall I cast no reflection
Allowing death to steel my entrails
A man composes his life, though is never exonerated
That would be too much, living is just enough
The evolution of spirit begins when crossing the bridge
Narrow, long and deep, and steeped in angry revolution
Daring to reach out, touching humankind because
Revolt without accomplishing heartfelt revelation  
Is a hollow affair
Still, the bridge looms in darkness
Blind humanity crawls upon it
And the lantern remains lit.

-II

We claim the Maya, the Inca, the Aztec
We claim empires forgotten, usurped on the front page
We claim the Palestinian, the African, the Serb, the Croat
Indigenous warriors for the word
We claim the Aborigines of Australia
We claim the true Irish
We claim in desperate silence the Native American
For a heap of maggot infested, ignorant, saggy breasted
Land bereft of hope, empty of milk
Wherever it exists, whispered in huts, in hovels
In ramshackle houses with tin

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