Friday, August 27, 2010

I am alive; I am in wild wind
take not my introspection but hold my hand
and let me
show you gladness

Some snare-drum contemplation
caused sea to tumble;
sending me to my already packaged grave,
where birds gently hop
to illustrate the fragile nature
of resurrection

Are we breaths in the eyes of our fathers?
Are we flickers of immaterial silence?

But brother, I want to be delicate; I want to be free

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