Nicaragua Libre
early '90's Remember sleeping on a wooden plank they called a bed each morning stiffer than death my days in Nicaragua Libre wandering the countryside more hope than I ever dared have more dreams than ever allowed And it was good, quiet enough to hear my heart being just past twenty alone sad but so alive so desperate to find something real. Holding other's triumphs so close that I forgot they were not mine signing songs I barely understood borrowing heroes for the heat the blistering swollen head walking miles under revolution's sky in truck rumbles on potholed roads solders passing me as I marched from town to town they waved sang danced shouted triumphs they seemed so much younger, or maybe older than I. And at night when the parrots sang teasing me with olive goddesses igniting my world aflame it seemed eternal time stood still for us to laugh in the face of never to cry from merely looking into the wind. |