My Blood Is Red Dirt


My blood is the dirt of my land…

Where my heart is forver the child running free…

Where the road ended at the edge of town…the last …

The last of innocence…ripped from place and harmony…

From the fields of purple vetch…

Magnetite and rose rocks are now covered by houses…

The smell of evening in the Oklahoma wind as it kissed my face.

Red Rover Red …souled red dirt…red woman…red heart

Martian soil…fields of wheat…the bell to ring us home at night….

Street lights gone out as the last of hide and seeks stragglers

Tried to walk so slowly home…and catch the horney toads who spit the red…

The gypsie soul that cries for home that never finds the peace…

The nomad mind that roams alone and never finds release…

The tears the roll not down a face,

But down a lifetime feel the chase of hearts

Why this sorrow in my cup?

Why here for me to drink it up?

What purpose does the memory serve?

The ache of time’s exposed nerve…

Armour that the soldier heart

Can build around the softer part

‘Til the child inside can’t see the world…

One no longer free…

 

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