We have
no more earth for martyrs
no box to hold you
you hope the way the sky hopes
suited Malcolm Clay
carrying that smile
like a sacred place
like an lonely anthem
so vulnerable

we've seen that smile before
we know this hope
so honest
so noble
so beautiful
we've seen it
murdered
stompped out
dimmed
slaughtered
in theaters
in open roofed cars
on ballroom floors
on balconies
in hotel kitchens

Mr. Obama we have
no more earth for martyrs
no wooden box to hold you
no tears to squander
you hope the way the sky hopes
remember bobby
john fitzgerald
with hair like wheat
clumped with blood
WHY!
why this way comes you
when there are men
with hard boiled eyes
with pistoled faces
laying in wait
why save us
at your daughters expense

Mr. Obama
when they come
promise me
when they come
promise me
that you will smile
pray
tell them
of you mother's hands

when they come
these nuclear sons of Reagan
faces stitched with spin
hearts sycronized to the AP wire
delivering their unholy propaganda
same ones who brought us god
in high definition
trying to define you
promise me
you'll tell then
of the blue beaches of Hawaii
of your grandmother's stories
your grandfather's scars
your fathers dreams
tell them of your daughters eyes
so innocent, so vulnerable
like some beautiful truth
something
to soften their faces
to open their heads
for we have
no more earth for martyrs
no box to hold you
all we have are
these unkempt poems
these undiluted church songs
and we'll sing them
scream them even
until our lungs explode
unitl our vision's blurred
because we love you
we love you
Mr. Obama
because like us
you too are a searcher, a dreamer
and you speak a truth so eternal
that even if they poked a billion
holes through you
they'll only be
making space
for the light to shine through

for we have no more earth for martyrs

no wooden box to hold you.

ainsley burrows 2008