Poetry from Stephen Jarrell Williams

"Road Walkers"

Sunrise solitude
trees hiding my footprints

a few hours reflecting
the past unfolding

way back chosen few
many of us had to run

heavy backpacks
stuffed with prophetic poems

word bombs
exploding the supposed peace

quick copied
and buried

hiding in the wilderness
they caught some of us

to a choke of silence

my old friends now in a blur
their screams in the crackling leaves

their flesh left against cracks in the walls
pinch of prison bars

inventive years the rest of us staying alive
around campfires and crammed inside caves

star gazers and wall painters
tasting sugar honey when we slept

remembering before our good deeds
became unbreathable and illegal

yet the world underestimating
you should never cheat the Creator

now reaping with endless lines
toxic food in plastic bags

on their knees with bent straws
sipping gutter water

strangers becoming stranger
giving hand signs in a cryptic rage

broken fingers
swollen tongues

somewhere books still telling the truth
pages burning to keep warm

wilderness closing in
beside the mountains of dead

finally out into the open I run
looking for my lonely cross

not many of us left
to torture

truthsayers into the sun.

"Someday Flowering Lands"

Some of us seen in the distance
shadow stick figures

disappearing in the flowing mist
fog of lowering clouds

passing they hear our whispers
thought arrows prickling inside their heads

later in the evening quiet
rubbing their chins

wondering why they're thinking
pre-dreams of flowering lands

paradise people
singing to the stars

angels dancing
with tambourines and harps

breaths from heaven

no fear
no hate

no worries
no cliff falls

to an expired world

hopefully our prayers have an effect
on the spoiled and mega rich.

"End of the Road"

She steps lighter than air
upon the stones

telling me on our last trip
before she passes her final test

wings won't be needed
God lifting whenever we want

I wasn't sure at the time
if she was hallucinating

with her fading breaths
tender touch to my hand

until a soft glow of light
embraced her that night

in a clearing of grass
beside the highway between cities

she was queen of the road walkers
everyone had seen her

on the gradual slope of plains
and the paths to mountaintops

her voice sweet
as her spirit

everyone weeping
at the end of her road.

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