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Tiger Or Lamb


Walter L. Jones

When you seek the wonder of words a smith is often called for the Blake vision of
God searching and creating devil and man.
So it is the tiger and the lamb

Sea comes in harmony left on burned strake
Way in quest I know to all I have known

Deck takes the will of running in place
Lay in arms of trust as the lust fades

Pray so well in ecstasy as part of all I feel
Gush forth the wine of words holding me

Made in triangles bent for shape to ring
Dust takes the wide stream leaving old

Lust comes in and out my mind traveling along
Trust relieves the heart left on shores seeking more

Cuss a wild-eyed dream left in Monday rail
Curse the hunger pitting a my soul lost born to fail

Hearse rolls in wandering trails kept for the willing
Nurse keeps the blood flowing from the drip on a tongue

Thirst comes in ice chips stole from floors reaching
Steel as leach pulls haphazard on carpets guiding

Real takes the pause from hearts bleating on images done
Feel her like rain cooling mind and skin in heat

Deal lost in vision of bridge burn't to meet a need
Wide-eyed monsters pull and tear a part ending screams

Slide into cherry spot all is still and warm done it is done
Birth comes in increments of salvation sought and past on

Worth takes her into her brown eyes praying for set free
Jag of hate rides the fate of fight seven angels waiting

Rag into a blood let room as the doom of love goes home
Edge stops before a tribute to the less of will and cries

Wedge leads in a quiet message as the stations come
Sorrow of man cleans thrones in colored glass seen

Morrow takes a presence in smoke cleared winding upward
Said a period of valley coming death strong in shadow failed

Led forth a single ring of bell calling long and hard in dark
Blind of forgiveness travels forgetting soft lies longer cries

Replied takes along time to anger in helices finds to hurt faces
Crust breaks a dawn in cloud and frivolous sky lingering

Dust dampened in fates dreamed in golden dreams waged
Rage pulls forever in tow of reigns reaching hard to be a highway

Vain in pistol laid in quest of sword and mind in pen quested
Gray leads the candlewick to be ink and sage crawling like worms

Say in western fondling reacting to still and purchased pride

Kindness leads me to a cross on a hill
Suppose I will always be on the cusp of sleeve and grieve.

Copy right January 2007

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