Second of May

Poetry & Prose May 2, 2017

In a city where I walk where I once knew the walls,
I knew them by name

On the corner we spoke of a lingering hope
we’d be there some day

I grew through soil, through the tremor and toil
of my fathers name

I was a man in the mild and a boy through the bile,
you could say the same

Oh for all I knew was once in the center,
and now we stand as one of a feather and we bleed

The street now runs cold and in a moment I’ll fold
and lay down what was mine

I’ve slain the divine

It was in the steeple I sought the one thing that brought
me to a new refrain

The history of hope, an abandoned old trope
from our fathers domain

I once knew his name

Who knew that I’d find her again in the center
The place I was alone while we’re crowded together by the sea

The shadows laid fine against her innocent mind
as I turned to grey

I’ll find you again in the heart of the weather
and I’ll say at last can we be together

Once again

Paint by Francisco Goya The Second of May

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