Trump

I was born in a prison full of thorns
though the roses that were touched by the dew
reminded me of something angelic stirring
in the life of spring

when I was eight, I would wake up early
almost every day after it rained
to watch the roses glisten in the sun
as the sun rose up from the sides of the hill

I had conversations with the sun
and when I spoke to him, he’d brush me
with the wind and sometimes the sky
and the tree and sometimes my hair
and I was dancing around the stone
I was completely alone
I walked toward the magic chair
and when I returned a magic
coin was there

and then there was
the path of cobbled brick
where the water would wash down

From the rain, I found a pretty rock
it was white like satin and
was striped with rainbows
it just appeared like everything else
In that strange little world

a hidden town within the city
all those things have left me
the stone, the coin, the angel penny
the millions of people who believed

in liberty

I was born in a prison full of thorns
and I was born with a key
he smells the flowers in his prison
and from our pain he draws his poison
maybe we are not meant to suffer
at all, maybe we are meant to begin again
and not become victims of

the delusions of one evil man
no matter how tall he may be
or if his face is bright as the moon
no matter how he exerts his power
Like a tower full of golden spoons
no matter he existed at all

the key is to realize the vision
the vision was that there would be no prison
there would be no wall
if we could agree on anything that would unite
us all.

no one wants to be born
In a prison full of thorns