LEGION

                        By Brian Polite

My troubles are legion,

I count myself             one

Army of…

Troop through concrete jungles on a mission

Trained by Special Forces of nature

Commanding officer Almighty Divine

Universal totality

God ranks high.

General spirituality left tenants of the soul deeply entrenched

Poems turn private thoughts into cryptic mystic word march

Spirit speaking strong like         drill

                                                Sergeant

                                                bark.

                                                Trees of Brooklyn artists

and writers deep rooted

History in the branches.

I grow from this.

I, the iron leaf in the wind

                                 blowing down gates of fortune's Fort.

My years, Green.

Youthful flexibility still new to my basic training.

Bootcamp College experience.

I graduated to rough hewn uniform

Ghetto camouflage

Spirit fatigue

                        be wear and tear.

War torn this life to live.

Silent tears

the shrapnel when landing on mind's crippling negative.

Writing with wounded words

Bleeding purple hearted

I choose to fuel my freedom fight with this.

Internal combustion ignition for innervisions.

I, an engine of expression's ammunition

Creative war machine on a mission

My weapons are legion

I count myself

Army of            one.

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