The Truth And The Lie
the truth is
that the lie has worn thin
and tastes like vomit
in the mouths of the hungry,
the homeless, and the hopeless.
'make them hate each other,
because of color or creed,
make them afraid of each other,
tell them they're different
and that anyone different is dangerous'
keep them fighting each other
while you steal them blind
so easy, so easy
wake up, dammit!
we are all human beings
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Forgive Me If I Failed...
forgive me if i failed...
when i broke my heart
in a thousand tiny pieces,
each reflecting universes
in the naked moonlight.
when i loved unconditionally,
and yet lost the world.
when i drew god's face,
on the child and the dog.
when i burned endless lifetimes,
to warm the lost in the night.
when i listened to mountains and trees,
and tried to translate.
when i fought for peace,
and ended up fighting myself.
when i gave away my soul,
when i kissed the shadows.
when i touched the forbidden,
and saw with the eyes of the ant.
when i leapt from the ledge,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Returned.... (Primitive)
my soul hath returned
to the beginnings of faith,
before written history,
before there were words.
when god walked naked in the darkness,
her long hair birthing leaves
on branches that wept.
the stones whispered praise,
the trees bowed in prayer!
the gutteral moan of the wind
haunts the walls of the cave.
i dream of fire,
both shaking and sweating with cold.
while god talks with the wolves,
the turtles, and the owls.
and sounds mimic night
making love with herself!
dawn calls from a faraway shore;
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Courtroom Is Empty
the courtroom is empty,
the gavel untouched.
no hands on the book,
no jury of twelve.
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
small children killed, tossed in the trash,
women abused, old people hungry, alone.
young girls sold into slavery
young boys sold into war
homeless ghosts walk the halls,
without hope in man or God.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
an American tragedy,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Truth And Justice...
we do not go to war to protect freedom,
we go to war to buy and sell the free
for the profit of the machine...
do you want a just war?
keep kicking people out of their houses,
taking their jobs, destroying their familes,
and leaving their children hungry...
keep banning books, taking away individual
rights.... keep putting you hand on the common....
and they will rise, and overthrow you!
violence is the wrong answer...
but if you push a peaceful man in a corner,
and abuse his family, he will come out fighting!
you cannot continue to enslave by skin color, religion,
sexual orientation, political views, or economic
status....
too many people see the lie...
too many people are sick of the lie....
and the people you've fooled into fighting
each other, into hating each other...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Full Tilt
running down the road
laying it on the line;
cause mercy's just a prayer,
and justice is blind
give what you got
more than hope can allow
nothing more important
than right here and now
he's a joker, he's a clown,
he's a fighter, he's a man.
sell his soul to protect you,
got his heart in his hands
wide open, and looking for
a bullet to the head...
when you stand, dont back down
somebody gonna want you dead.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Weeping... (Betrayed)
weeping...
i know the sound,
the feel, the taste.
the deep intensity
of storm laden skies.
the grey dust
on the building vacant.
the stink of human flesh,
when hunger ripens into need.
the death of oil tainted water,
and smoke choking out the air.
the sudden take of violence,
seems reason never justifies.
the cold clank of chains,
the sobbing dirt of endless fields.
the baby gasping for life
in a room designed by hate.
the old woman dying on a makeshift bed,
rats running across the floor.
the old man left alone,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Come On!
we live in an angry world...
victimized by indifference,
by greed, by intolerance...
we have lost direction.
and we are to blame.
we can go to the moon,
build great buildings, cross oceans,
talk to people around the world via the web...
yet we cannot stop hunger,
cannot eradicate poverty,
cannot provide shelter and medical care
to the masses...
come on!
we are led by insensitive wealthy people,
who sell our souls and bodies
for nickels and dimes...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Anger Of Old Men...
who am i then?
is there nothing left?
the splintered leg
of the coffee table,
the doorknob broken,
the place on the edge of the yard
where the dog likes to piss?
do old men's bodies
crumble into the shadows
of all the things they've died for?
how many plates filled?
how many cups poured?
how many fires tended
against the night?
how many hands held?
how many dreams buried
beneath the tree that stands?
how many conversations
with pictures on the walls?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Who Grieve... (Lights The Way)
we who grieve are the children of journey,
we bear the scars of human failure.
our hearts are bruised, our backs are bent,
our feet determined and weary.
we who search the darkness to know the light,
who are the beat and hunger of human existence.
who cannot separate the suffering of those in need,
who know that walls are bridges not crossed.
we who stink of loss and sweat pure sin,
who enter the temples of the dispossessed.
who would love the unwanted whatever the cost,
whose god lives in the mirror of human eyes.
we who find wealth in lives discarded,
who know that truth has a thousand faces.
who follow the wind without destination,
who know the joy that wipes the last tears.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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