bohemian
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our lives are turning over
washing away the guilt left over from when
you're finally sober
like an omnipresent rinse cycle
yet still you foil life by kissing to a false idol
you know
This is their place,
the place they freely roam;
This is their place,
the place they call, “Home”.
As we complain about things being unfair,
there are families in the US without health care.
You may not have gotten what you wanted for your birthday,
there are people in Haiti trying to survive after an earthquake.
If today were the last day to live,
would you call your enemies and forgive?
or would you go to the shelter to give?
something simple can express so much
our hands together is a simple touch
Abnormal, poor, weird words I hear daily
Growing up poor wasn’t a choice; wishing it was a choice
Each day I struggle looking over my should, hearing them laugh,
Avoiding the landlord, rents overdue.
these hands, subjacent to my heart,
brush tears from eyes,
push water through space,
teach children to swim,
feed hungry lost souls, faith,
make art, heal wounds,
and open doors... for you.
Life is like dominoes,
each one has an effect,
wherever the first one falls
has an influence on the next.
If the heroes of old learned how we kept this place
They would rise from the grave and they would spit in our faces
The land and the sea is soaked with blood and their tears
Maintaining our freedom for hundreds of years
