Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Ike (unfinished)

Did Mama ever tell you one day you'll grasp the phone
Cradle it in your scarred hands
Like something worn and beaten to the touch
Shuffling across these grounds
Old man with less than three decades to tell
Spent and fatigued
Scratching for your ounce of peace
I'll make a wish on the tears you weep
If you will dig the well