There Remains An Underground

the night opened lotus petal
paint brushed the sky
such beauty to the I who
is none of the all that will be
some say some where
some thing has seven days
to live and then it begins anew
like snow flakes and desert sand
waterfalls and earthquakes
waking babies from the womb
of work to rest in the breast of time
there are those who
scuba dive to the mountain peak &
seek to be lost amongst the found
listening closely as the sun
shares its secrets to those
who stare boldly at its Maker &
asks with all sincerity why am i
so dark when i was born to be you
replies of truth are tsunami waves
kissing shores for the love of cleansing
rinsing the world of all wicked
children rebelling against freedom
enslaved to death like the faithful
little demons that they are
daybreaks reveal serpents striking
heels of travelers looting literary
treasures buried in books bcuz crooks
love to keep the light from dawning
in minds blinded by white lies of men
and its all a canvas of colors
a grand design of earthworms
 and mosquitoes swarming near ears
buzzing to be heard and fed rotten
apples while the best fruit still
hangs from trees bleeding leaves
like runaway slave feet cut to the bone
and there remains an underground
despite the shift of the pole star