I Walk Alone...
i am the last rebellion,
the fire you cannot control.
i am the faces of lost bodies,
names written in blood.
i am the call to battle,
armed by the heart.
i am the silence that knows,
the darkness that takes.
i am poverty's shadow,
and the language of need.
i am the anger of the beaten,
i am the field forsaken.
i am the tint of skin,
and the color of the eyes....
the song of the shovel and whip.
i am the bones of the old ones,
shaking with rage.
the tears of the grandmothers,
the dirty hands of small children.
i am the soldier imprisoned,
on the streets of despair.
i am the conscience of the murderer,
that haunts the night.
i am the bodies of lovers,
glistening with passion.
i am the child born,
neath a sky with no star.
i am the crucifix and prayer beads,
the hymn known only by trees.
i am the dog abandoned,
rain falling without remorse.
i am the monk self-immoliated,
the cry for freedom unheard.
i am human dignity,
and i walk alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
I Am.... (Hand Of Silence)
i am the fire raging out of control,
the blade of the shadow on poverty's neck.
the broken sound when no one can hear,
the cold feel of the gallows,
the wings of the dead bird.
i am the raccoon trapped,
and the fury of loss.
i am the waiting that kills,
moment by moment.
i am the hand too tired to touch,
the baby just born that no one wants.
i am the ribs showing on the starving child,
the refugee fleeing with nowhere to go.
the smell of despair at the county dump,
the apartment without curtains or furniture.
i am the soldier killed who hesitated with conscience.
i am the prisoner afraid of both detention and freedom.
the young gay teenager who hangs himself,
the pregnant girl who takes too many pills.
i am the protester beaten and left on the sidewalk,
the old man alone without food or heat.
i am the touch of Jesus in the addict's eyes,
the street bum sleeping in the alley.
i am the farmer whose farm was taken,
the family left without a home.
the 40 year worker in the unemployment line,
the young girl taken and sold as a whore.
i am the Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire,
the rebel imprisoned for speaking the truth.
i am the millions of young who cant afford school,
the millions of workers who cant afford insurance.
i am the immigrant deported,
whose family has no chance.
the young mother caught stealing food.
i am the morals hidden by despair and anger,
the conscience of the poor holding the gun.
i am the color of skin covered with blood,
the face of god in strays of all kinds.
i am the Buddha weeping,
the body of suffering....
the hand of silence covering the grave.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Destiny's Breath!
the face of my god is dark,
her eyes coal more precious than diamonds.
she whispers to fallen petals,
and mountains and rivers speak forth.
her lips call crows and name them eagles,
her hands are filled with bowls.
she names the darkness morning,
and from the light she weaves the night.
she bathes the human spirit,
in the sweat of tribulation.
she nurses the unwanted child,
and places flowers on unmarked graves.
she gives lost lovers candles,
builds bridges for weary pilgrims.
she forges doubt into the journey,
and plants dignity in fields gone fallow.
she walks with poets in intimate silence,
from grieving she harvests prayer.
from prayer she forms bodies,
filled with destiny's breath!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (Namaste)
i heard your soul whimper
from across the miles,
in the dead of night,
when you thought no one cared.
i saw the light in your eyes,
when you fed the hungry child,
and brushed the dirt from his face
with hands that trembled.
i felt the tears,
that you couldnt cry...
as you buried your only son,
killed in their wars.
i smelled the fear in your body,
but tasted the grit and determination,
as they beat you to the street
for protesting their greed.
i shook with the cold lonliness
of your tiny cell,
where they left you
with no identity or hope...
your freedom taken
for standing up for freedom,
your human rights taken
for defending human rights.
i am the song,
and the hymn of you.
i bathe in your light,
i drink your darkness.
i taste the colors of your skin,
and they all taste the same.
i feel your fears,
your desires, and your dreams.
i am the farmer, the mill worker,
i stand in your factory lines.
i am the activist, the doubter,
the good and the evil.
i feel the blows you've taken,
i can name your scars.
i've slept with your failures,
and buried your mistakes.
i am the love of your hidden names,
i walk by your sides,
know your steps and your sweat.
i am the good things you've done,
and yes, even the bad!
i am the triumph, and i am the loss.
i am the breath of god,
that fills your bodies....
you are the flesh and bones
and the feet of my dreams!
i am the sacred, the magnificent,
the simple, and the mundane...
all living within
every moment you live!
i am the song,
and the hymn of you.
i am the work
that only you can do.
i am the dance, the drive,
the passion, and the chance...
you are the words
that only god can express!
namaste!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Life Erupting...
i walk the hymn of life erupting,
the urine prayers, the sweat, the pus.
the gutteral cry of need evolving,
the phlegm of god, the bodies rotting.
the snow wiped faces
and the naked earth.
in constant rhythm with hunger's howl,
the candle flame, the silenced tongue.
the whisper shake, of shadows wanting,
nails, blocks, and colored glass.
the crippled dance,
and the distant drums.
who am i? i am you!
the second son of an unknown father.
born in an alley neath a starless sky,
my feet stink of human,
my eyes lit with desire...
talk to me when words are done!
the wet birthed babe,
the hot blood of giving.
the life caved in,
the searh for nipple.
the whiskey breath,
the cigarette memory,
the love torn chest,
the beak plucked heart.
the identity of the unknown soldier
who died in the ashes, unheard, unseen.
the hands that built with determined faith,
with common trust and common hope...
the weeping beneath the silence,
the silence beyond the grave....
talk to me when words are done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Soul's Rebellion
tired, so tired...
i throw myself into sleep,
falling from the edge of the building,
i cannot see the street below.
a suicide against the hollow body
of everyday repetition,
and the cold stink,
of hands unwashed!
falling, cursing death,
and all it's religious demands.
i ooze from the skin of 'myself',
the dog breaks from its pen.
desire, beating and real,
i drink the juices of lovers...
forbidden to show their faces.
i am penis and rhythm,
the taste of the oak split
by lightning or axe,
who knows? i dont care!
i am blood on the lips,
forever rich in its color.
i am freedom screaming
from the stoop of poverty.
i make love in the alleys,
tossing cans and breaking bottles.
i rip buttons from the blouse,
whisper oceans and darkness.
i am brandy and semen,
words written on the stone,
glowing in the forever night
of your soul's rebellion!
i am free!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Warrior's Pledge...
well, i've been to the mountain,
and i've walked through the valleys.
i've stood neath the cross
awaiting my turn.
i've heard the stories of children,
and the stories of old men.
there's not enough difference
for me to discern.
i've been to the battle,
and i've taken it to the streets.
i've been to the place,
where truth and dignity meet.
i've stood naked and alone,
and faced my sins.
i've felt the wrath of god,
known the ignorance of men.
i've worn boots of flesh,
and fought with my hands.
went back into the fire,
to save the last man.
slept with angels and demons alike,
drank the darkness, walked in the light.
found the right in wrong,
and the wrong in right....
as the storm clouds rage
on this face cut by age,
the mountains tremble,
and the rivers rage.
i'll stay to the end,
i'll turn the last page,
then catch a ride to the funeral
on the last stage....
i'll write the words of my heart,
with a pen dripping blood.
i'll cross the last river,
and stomp through the mud.
with the prayers of the children,
and the eyes of the hawk.
to the place of closeness,
where spirits can talk.
and stare deep and unashamed
into God's eyes.
and lay down my journey,
where the soul never dies.
where names be forgotten,
but hands clasp as one.
in the valley of darkness,
at the feet of the sun.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Being At Best Human!
i go to the church of human need,
pray to the God inside each face,
inside trembling calloused hands....
in tears on battle worn faces.
inside the broken hearted,
the beaten down, and the abused.
in the addicts need, the murderer's
repentance, inside evry child.
in the stray dog's lonesome....
in the cheater's remorse....
in those too tired to be
anything other than honest....
in naked sweaty grimy humanity
being at best human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lies Told To Children
religious incantations,
written with dead bodies,
buried in ditches
with face drawn shovels.
the tint of skin tastes
like things done in the night.
and lies told to children
to let them sleep!
redemption killed
on a desert highway,
left to stink in the sun
of another faceless day.
we are what we have done,
in the final end.
yet we close our eyes,
and wash the blood from our hands!
blame it on the cost of freedom,
a white god with special needs.
religious incantations,
and lies told to children!
written for the spirits of over
100 million Native Americans killed!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (The Branch, Part Two)
i am...
the orphaned child and the abandoned dog,
the woman raped, the young man killed.
i am the body hanging alone and cold,
the old woman shaking in an empty room.
i am the young girl taken and enslaved,
the needle, the spoon, and the revolver.
i am black skinned, brown skinned anger,
and the bones of bodies hidden...
the speaker of truth detained and tortured,
the invisible trail left behind.
i am...
the rage of jobless, homeless, hopeless...
the unemployment line and the sweat shop.
i am the family living in a stolen car,
and the child who runs away.
i am the store clerk killed by the robber,
her minimum wage death unnoticed.
i am the shadow crossing the border,
the inmate that breaks and runs.
i am the guns silenced,
and the lies revealed...
i am human rebellion.
i am the branch covered by leaves,
waiting for certain autumn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love Defiled
spirits wail in the napalm night,
bodies without faces walk deserted streets.
dreams whisper from cardboard boxes,
ants walk with angel's feet.
the sound of mouth's stricken,
deeper than just need.
the soul of fire shudders,
while glass eyed leeches feed.
history written with grave cost,
we are what we have done.
while outside the door anger lurks,
and the bullet seeks the gun!
gods? i think not....
even demons fear to tread.
the hand takes from its own heart,
and leaves the hunger for dead.
bells ring with hollow haunt,
fear drives the nails in the cross.
even tears of blood cannot repair,
what love defiled leaves as loss!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Takes.... (To Be Human!)
it takes sweat,
callouses, bruises,
tears, passion and wetness...
it takes hugs, deep thinking,
the root of anger,
and the bridge of kindness...
dirty feet, dirty hands,
naked hearts,
the stink of bodies...
joining, touching, standing,
falling, getting back up...
cursing, praying, singing,
breathing, fucking, holding close...
smiling, giving, sharing, losing,
giving a damn....
listening, reading, searching,
questioning, believing....
daring, trusting, flying,
sitting in deep silence waiting...
forgiveness walking,
gut wrenching talking,
seeing the beauty living...
touching, tasting, smelling...
you and me...
to be human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cry In The Night...
one last drink,
and a cobblestone prayer,
a hat creased by dreams,
boots made of flesh.
nickels and dimes,
revolution and light.
while shadows dance,
amid cobwebbed desires..
and the sparrow's lament,
mourns over buildings lost.
over lives soon forgotten,
over hunger and loss.
while the faces of children,
burned into the grain.
to the words of a god,
forgotten by name!
now liberty's nails,
rust beneath the load.
bodies piled on bodies,
under circling crows.
and justice lies beaten,
stripped in the alley.
while confusion reigns,
and indifference shouts!
who am I? ... you ask,
with threatening pose.
while the stink of your fear
burns books in the night...
i am the voice of your heart,
the dignity of your soul.
i am the cry in the darkness,
that bears your name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Howl (The Returning, Part Two)
gods hate, too damned late,
you worship what you fear!
while buddhas whisper
behind hidden doors,
and leaves fall from trees condemned!
souls traded, manipulated,
for a loaf of bread.
childrens' bodies, wrapped in money,
never make a sound.
bought votes, sacrificial goats,
toe the party line.
buildings blaze, justice burns,
the bells of liberty chime.
the human hand rises from the rubble,
grasping at poisoned air.
the tears of those long since dead,
fall like nuclear rain!
love me, hate me,
see me with your eyes.
feel me, touch me,
treat me like a man!
voices lost neath stained glass windows,
only the memory of need.
the final blow, blamed on god,
the result of human greed!
while naked bodies walk dirty streets,
their holiness defiled.
the stranger calls, the light falters,
as we trudge the final miles.
the eagle screams, hot flesh dreams,
the child raised by wolves...
the only hope, human desire,
and the will to light the torch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Faces On Hands, Hands On Heart
news blackout, streets packed out,
politicians inside trade deals....
feed the poor, Communist whores,
dont know how despair feels!
Jefferson raise a cup, Crazy Horse rises up,
freedom's a blood filled rainbow...
homeless jobless, insulated snobness,
fighting for today and tomorrow.
faces on hands, hands on heart,
a small fire strong against the dark.
all God's children doing their part....
faces on hands, hands on heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Human Blood, Angry And Red!
i put on my black skin
to walk through your lily white churches.
i spoke not a word...
my silent body exuded,
years of poverty and oppression,
discrimination and hunger.
i laid down my shackles
on the steps of your courthouse,
i spit blood on your law books,
human blood, angry and red!
and the woman i slept with,
walked beside me step by step.
she bore my children,
i washed her feet with awe.
we spoke and listened,
forever equals...
take down your sign,
ribs are made to barbeque!
my son fell in love
with a young painter from France...
a delicate young man,
features sharp and clear.
i spent dinners in their company,
conversation that cut darkness.
stunned, admiring... their devotion,
their love wrapped in thought.
i laid down my shackles
neath the altar in your church,
i spit blood on your holy books,
human blood, angry and red!
i turned away from your armies,
took the needle from my soul.
shook off the shudders of ignorance,
and laid down my gun.
sold all my possessions,
walked away from debt induced bondage.
stuck out my thumb,
and headed high in the hills.
i slept neath the trees,
could hear the song of the river.
whispered to the owl,
lying close to my dog.
intimately knew every star by name,
every blade of grass,
and the coolness of stone.
speak, o wind, speak and deliver!
i laid down my shackles,
in the chambers of your progress,
i spit blood on your agenda,
human blood, angry and red!
i crossed the border at midnight,
silently moving, shadows in shadows.
with nothing to lose but my life,
nothing to gain but my life.
hands eager to work,
heart eager to dream,
believing in the impossible dream,
of freedom!
i laid down my shackles,
at the foot of your Statue Of Liberty,
i spit blood on your Constitution,
human blood, angry and red!
kill me freedom!
rip the heart from my chest.
i wear your scars
on my back and my face.
bury me in equality,
let my name be every name.
rip the skin from my bones,
let my bones be the steps...
on the path to compassion,
on the road to human kindness...
let my memory be fairness,
my image be joined hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Are....
we are the children
of the tears God wept.
we are the names and the faces
of the spirits that roam the night.
we are the leaves that fell
with autumnal passion...
we crumbled back into the dirt,
and returned to our mother.
we are the oaks cut
to build the house.
we are the saws, the hammers,
and the nails.
we are the water,
and we are the well.
we are the cup and the basin,
we are the mirror long cracked.
we are the fire,
and the bodies huddled.
we are the long blackness
of the unnamed night.
we are the book,
and the living words,
the preacher closing the casket,
the shovel, and the dirt.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I'll Be Around
i'll be around...
in the wind that rustles your curtains,
in the whisper of darkness that taunts the moonlight.
in the silence that roars, and is then still...
in the prayers that children do not understand,
in the dying old man's aloneness.
in the blood that testifies against the hands,
in the hands that cannot escape the heart.
in the feet walking by their own will,
in the soul scarred by mistakes.
in the hungry mouth and the desperate eyes
that have seen and known too much.
in the fear that comes in the middle of the night,
and the dawn that never seems to come.
in the need to worship and the faith to act,
in the doubt that destroys false idols.
in the pound of the guns, the cries for help,
and the fire that has no favorites.
in the defiant stand, feet set firm,
the mark of the chains on backs and wrists.
in the freedom that does not buy and sell,
that sees beneath the skin.
in the constant dialogue of 'i and thou',
in the me that disperses and dissolves.
in the hammer, the saw, and the shovel,
in the grasses beneath bare feet.
in the song of the whipporwill,
and the final hoot of the owl.
in the howling of wolves,
and the sleepy stillness of the cattle.
in the hidden depths of your heart,
and the quiet darkness that forms your thoughts.
in the grain of the tree just cut,
and the rhythm of the fire going dead.
in every voice that cries for justice,
in every hand that reaches for help!
in the working hum of common thread,
in the simple dignity of the family.
in the ghosts of soldiers lost in battle,
in the weeping of mothers over their graves.
and in the constant courage of the peacemakers,
the voice of reason and compassion.
in the truth that all men are equal...
in the bridge from here to there!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
the song of the bruise, the scar, and the dream.
the smell of flesh bartered for hope.
the last drink of daylight, the dark night unending.
the face of eternity in slivers of moonlight.
the star of humanity falling from the sky.
the presence of god, and the absence of presence.
the mountains crumbling, the rivers gone dry.
the last trees walking into the distance.
the sound of the chisel carving in stone,
the last tear wept by the shadow called being.
and i turn and i stand in the name of dignity,
holding in my hands the pages of history.
the moment lost to vast infinity...
saying, tis now, or never,
truth counts the cost...
which side do you belong to?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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