Fly Away, Fly Far; Be Free Forever

Gold-richness in the grit,
Hearts trickle down white child's leggings;
Times begone and turned to the left,

I wait.

Cut the air with a glass dagger
Bleed green-of the earth;
The "stuff" which we are created.

Milk of the mother
sustaining the cultures;
Trickling down the descendent's
of our fathers past.

Fall winds and winter gales,
Father time-how slowly you fly;
Taunting me with this wanting of the familiar face;
of you.

Sweet surrender,
give in to the darkness;
could I not sleep until your return?

Take me away on the back of an eagle,
Hide my eyes from shameful lies of this place,
and tell me it will be alright...