Old Dog Again

Once he told me of his grandfather,

a victim of the days when intellect was hidden sometimes,

by masks and pointy caps and shotguns.

and there they marched behind the blinds,

with windows closed, covered and exposed,

lost out in the woods, with leaves hanging from the trees,

all fallen in the fall, and in the winter left to freeze,

something discarded and forgotten, way out in the breeze,

decaying and swaying, a forest in the seas.

all of the confusion of war and loss and hate

passed down by faith and famine and fate,

some pathetic mixture of culture and genetics,

a symptom of politics and phonetics,

we're all so lost and following all we've found

and his ol' grandfather's dog followed him all over town.

granddaddy told me of his grandfather's dog,

following him in his sheets and all the fog,

in everything he tried to conceal,

in everything that was violent and real,

in all of the days and the choices of all the seasons,

sometimes those without a voice are the voice of reason...

Old Dog

Granddaddy told be of his grandfather, who was a member of the ku klux klan.

his grandfather suited up every evening and took his pride and all he had learned

to discuss all of his hatred for colors and his black and white views

and to burn all of the things he was told to believe in,

like crosses and swastikas...

but he had one problem...he had a dog.

and all dogs see different colors than we do...

and they don't seem to be so offended by them...

and the dog always followed him around in his white skin

and even in his white suit and cap,

and damnit the dog was always so obvious and naked.

so very much the opposite of what his grandfather intended to accomplish.

but sometimes love is more powerful than hate.

and so everyone always knew about his grandfather,

and his all of his silly rantings and rally's...