Sentinel Poetry (Online) Magazine Monthly...Since December 2002   ISSN 1479-425X
JUNE 2003, ISSUE #7

Deno Sandz

On Night's Ground

Footsteps of many, with ages young.
Headed near nor far, from thy kingdom come.
Moon beams shine, on their sleepy stroll.
With eyes wide open, bad decisions.
Uncertain visions unfold.

A bundle of x's and o's, of black chromosones.
The shadow of a tree, from shady days sprung.
Shows their image, of what's known and unknown.
Of their own futures hung.

Four corner foray, near the edge they stand.
Not an ambition spoken, nor future seen.
A fellowship broken, wind beneath their wings.
The waves give way, to thy grayish sand.
Their souls touching the shores.
Praying on all fours,nowhere to creep, no revolving doors.

Money flows, through their nose.
Powdery white, as snowflakes blows.
Two steps from the door, from where the Oasis flows.
The spirits make home, inside the cold glass,where your demons roam.

Their faces seen, young they stood.
Life intervened, but they're known in the hood.
Saturday not met, not started yet.
For the things they've done.
In years they will say.
While in the darkness, lying wait for the SUN.

I've walked the walk, underlined with dandelions.
Curvature chalk, with an empty mind.
Caught up in the catching up.
Between a thin line, the wrong side I sup.
With nothing but time to talk-now.
Tell me why?
The last sip, the last drink, is from an empty cup.


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