Poems

The Revolutionist

I've enjoyed my slow death here with you,
But by noon it's my neck for the noose,
Its invitation a cold demand.

But were the sun my man to command,
I'd forever stay his fiery hand,
And steal a day from our butchered muse.

I'd raise us an island from the sea,
There I'd trick you into loving me,
And finally I'd believe in God.

But we lived like kings and died like dogs,
The streets rang red with the rifle's song,
And our day defied eternity.

Here I hear the warden's curtain call,
A musket blast echoes down the hall,
Friendly hands seek the key to my cell.

And should this reckless escape end well,
My dead men might find some peace in hell,
Dead for the day dogs don't die at all.