Here

I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow. I am like a tree, From my top boughs I can see The footprints that led up to me. There is blood in my veins That has run clear of the stain Contracted in so many loins. Why, then, are my hands red With the blood of so many dead? Is this where I was misled? Why are my hands this way That they will not do as I say? Does no God hear when I pray? I have no where to go The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow, It is too late to start For destinations not of the heart. I must stay here with my hurt.