Sacrifice...

There was a sacrifice in the night

blood on the rock of the mountain

lightning made the glint of the blade more holy

and the dint of red running life, more meaningful;

the stone of the Earth lifted by the press of massive weight

sat like the wait of eternity,

there was death in the seams and sinews

of a craggy stone face,  darkness fell like a shade;

wisdom rose from the down-turned gleam.

                                  II.

There was a sacrifice in the night

her breath rose to the top of the walls

and crawled across the pitted roof of the sweaty room

as all of her waiting came to an end.

She was woman, lover and loved; she was mistress and madness.

Forsaken in the very moment of giving and taking

for there was a forgetful goodbye on every panted breath

for the love of her loving moments was the throes of its death

all in the same lustful twisting drag of moans

babbled sprays of growls and howls like the moon was

in the fire of her body and drove them both mad.

There was the blade of his body and squeaking springs made the altar

the mountain was made of her flesh

lightning dashed behind his eyes

thunder crashed in her ears...

then the silence descended like the city night

smoke and heavy air of Paterson

where windows showed the skyline of Manhattan

and his thoughts were across the bridges and tunnels

back to jungles of darkness in The City

idled night of New Jersey's tender shores would fade away

until it was no more than the sudden blink of waking from

rumble throated snores ...that surprised him, and a stale cigarette

became the only lover his lips needed.

                                            III.

There was a sacrifice in the night

Jackson Street was quiet until do-wop singers found the key

and the night listened to the cries of love and wonder

how the moon became the question

and her smile was the bright shining answer

the tenements held heat of the day, hot jungles

and the new wars were still far away, the Draft

was still a breeze from the Hudson River.

There was anger in the night from the last war or the one before

when the world shrugged until it could not bear any longer

then fought and died and cried

and a man made-sun to set the Rising Sun; 

land risen in the South

until the lips of the silent dark skinned masses

became a knowing smile as feet began to march;

but here there were no sober heroes.

Without faith in tomorrow this night became a pit;

the man roared from Alabama clay,

howled from the uniforms and guns they gave,

to the death and destruction half world away

to fight...for somebody else's freedom...over there

back here there was no place but second place,

no caste but the least and the last to get back from the fray...

was last to get hired first to get fired;

to hold the lightest paycheck.

He looked at his son

bright as the burning sun still touching achy neck

 tired shoulders, fingers that no longer bent

beneath the girth of a hammer grip.

Aging faster each day,

he was part of the cement he laid,

the brick walls he put up,

the shit he had to take to make a bone for his soup...

his words were not enough

he knew the toughest edge of life

where death comes easy to a man...easiest of all to a poor man

his words were not enough

to satisfy the want within,  rage that grew

like the rising temperature in the flats above

still hotter air of the street, noise of night trains, wails of police sirens ;

the rumble of the last planes into LaGuardia;

those boys on the corner tryin' to get some...

his words were not enough

no matter how he bellowed and blew

and the whiskey lost its power after the first of many pours

his hand held a kitchen blade

the tip was over his own son's heaving chest

 his words were not enough

as he pushed the blade on its way to the seat of life, his only son...

There was a sacrifice in the night

Love was upon the altar, and Angels wrung hands

there was heat near ground and all around there was anger

and regret.

Brilliant son... did you pray?  Did angels step upon the world

in the cement in the heat in the unvarnished night of city air?

Was it love or luck that bent the blade and made your skin the rock

like the mountain that ran red, like the heart of the unheard words

What was it this needy world saved you for...then

when there was sacrifice in the night.