A Lasting
Things that have given birth number greater than people;
there are efforts to hope, forging to ahead, and butterfly cocoons
of thought. There is a part of me that sidles in a whittling corner,
shards of wood and stone and glass strewn about, unequivocally
small and significant – ailing to hope, to forge, to pupate. There
is a part of you that addles in a sliding corner, shards of glass
and stone and steel sewn about, unreprimandably large and scorned –
ailing to hope, to forge, to forget. We forgot the flowers,
to plant them with care in these corners as to give birth to color
and to breath. Things that have given birth include gasps,
cries, and shattering weight of fists and fits. We are strong
gasps for air, cries for more mercy, and shattering nerves
under a resolve to live a perfect life. We give birth to pictures
of landscapes and walks in blizzard snow – paper easily torn and
powder-crunch footprints soon covered, but lasting in experience.
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