The Drug Lord

by Dayran

 

 

 

 

Machine guns to the front,

Machine guns to the back,

In the middle, in the SUV,

Bullet proofed and secured,

Sits the unsettled drug Lord.

God of the fields he surveys,

More than a garden, a promise,

When it comes into contact,

With the mind and the body.

Knows people, that's his business,

Knows when they tell the truth,

And when they deal in twos.

Enlivens the ghosts of old,

Stirs their passions to stories untold.

Deals in death, the old goat's heir,

Following little fishes to their homes,

On a boat that powers itself upstream,

Not for country or the god pure,

But the rocker, that god ignores.

Improvises all that he needs,

Then dumps it into the streams,

Of life's evanescent needs.

Bring the flames to them,

Where you might find them,

Make a bon fire of the obsessions,

It's a cryptology of the dammed.

Then watch it grow from the ashes,

Under light and tender hands.