Redemption

From the hands it came down 
From the side it came down 
From the feet it came down 
And ran to the ground 
Between heaven and hell 
A teardrop fell In the deep crimson dew 
The tree of life grew

And the blood gave life 
To the branches of the tree 
And the blood was the price 
That set the captives free 
And the numbers that came 
Through the fire and the flood Clung to the tree 
And were redeemed by the blood

From the tree streamed a light 
That started the fight 'Round the tree grew a vine 
On whose fruit I could dine 
My old friend Lucifer came 
Fought to keep me in chains 
But I saw through the tricks 
Of six-sixty-six

And the blood gave life 
To the branches of the tree 
And the blood was the price 
That set the captives free 
And the numbers that came 
Through the fire and the flood Clung to the tree 
And were redeemed by the blood

From his hands it came down 
From his side it came down 
From his feet it came down 
And ran to the ground 
And a small inner voice Said "You do have a choice." 
The vine engrafted me 
And I clung to the tree

-Johnny Cash

Poem by David Solway

A lot happens in that dark place,
the annex to the glittering edifice
where the clients sit
passing the time of day
ordering drinks and trying their luck.
The important work gets done
in that pokey, smoke-filled vault
at the back of the casino
where the real players
chomp on cigars, trade off-color jokes,
shuffle cards, raise the ante,
recount their manifold exploits
in the politics of the underworld,
listening to a blaring radio
while casting an attentive eye on the rigged slots
rolling their fruit on the TV monitors.
Of course, fortunate dupes of the turbulent underlords,
we’re not aware of what goes on
in the room at the back of our innocence,
dingy and apsidal,
home to the clergy of unshaven misfits
where the progress of the game is determined,
where the deck we’re issued is already marked
and where the music and the poetry come from.
There is no reason to complain,
no reason to cleanse the chamber
and expose the racket.
If we only continue playing,
no way we can lose.

- David Solway

Man, Was I Feeling Emo When I Wrote This, or What?

I wrote this a little over 5 years ago:

A big aching crater
A bunker of despair

To know that it's my own
for no one else to share

A bleeding ulceration
A gash through soul and flesh

To know that it's my own
And is forever fresh

Everyone is hurting
as they twist the knife

Everyone is grasping
for a slice of life

It's my own creation
indeed of my design

To know that it's my own
this cancer of the mind

Deep and dank and lonely
The demon lurks within

To know that its my own
the consequence of sin

Everyone is hurting
as they twist the knife

Everyone is grasping
for a slice of life