The burning bush facilitates
protection from the gaze
of unbelievers' eyes
in a war against democracy.

Don't you love your country?
[Should I spread so thinly?]
My country is but a state of mind

Can I love a concept...
a place defined
by artificial lines,
on borders drawn 
by the righteous hand
of blood-spattered history?

Is love merely a concept...
sisters and brothers in arms
embracing the familiar tree
of mother nature
her root-span
of natural boundaries
shifting beneath
our drift of temporal sands.

You're so naive
[You say the sweetest things]
I know my place

Elysian fidelities fly
on stars shooting
fusillades of thunder,
frescos of lightning
in mortared combat
returning volcano's fire,
the rampage of sea
as it violates
remote exotic lands
oblivious to demands
for survival.

even pathetic
[Such a small world!]
Your vision knows no boundaries

I wish to conceive
a space defined
by bountiful lines
drawn in the blood
of open hearts
by time-worn hands
wiping fears
from the face
of humanity.

11/13/2003

Posted on 11/13/2003
Copyright © 2025 Laura Doom