The Biz.

Daughter how fast you,
my daughter how fast have you.
Picked up yourself by your own strings.
And given yourself to the loud things.
The voices that tell you they love,
when you listen to it long enough.
And turns you over to the statues outside,
that violate your body, your heart, your insides.
If this voice whispers louder than wind.
To tell you that love is one more step again.
But such misery,
waves louder than the sea.
And the voice that calmed,
the blood-crusted palms.
Whispered inaudible peace.
If anger and hatred may turn back to passion.
And justice replace, this fixation on fashion.
It seems like breaking the skin, and then reaching in.
But the humblest seed breaks through the proud mountain.
And if you still remember the face,
and the mouth that whispered peace,
is now whispering grace.
It will come down to shower
with the scent of a flower.
And wipe these years of rust off your face.