I am a man now. <br />Pass your hand over my brow. <br />You can feel the place where the brains grow. <br /> <br />I am like a tree, <br />From my top boughs I can see <br />The footprints that led up to me. <br /> <br />There is blood in my veins <br />That has run clear of the stain <br />Contracted in so many loins. <br /> <br />Why, then, are my hands red <br />With the blood of so many dead? <br />Is this where I was misled? <br /> <br />Why are my hands this way <br />That they will not do as I say? <br />Does no God hear when I pray? <br /> <br />I have no where to go <br />The swift satellites show <br />The clock of my whole being is slow, <br /> <br />It is too late to start <br />For destinations not of the heart. <br />I must stay here with my hurt.<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/here/
