Sunday, November 15, 2020

Ill


I don't know what's left to say:

here's pain; here's my armor

still songs beat in my heart

return me to myself, kids.


I have become a ghost; I go;

I was gone for a generation

until tears filled my prayers

swam into years of sky.


Return me to myself, kids,

I belong to a god who has 

never even once killed me

the press of axe is only ice. 


When surrender lies inside me 

I... will shatter--into your accents

your stories, curious superstitions.

For you, I will... love unfinished. 


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