I never knew the grief I could feel from letting the sun-drenched clouds cradle me.  Looking below is a city I am familiar with, in all of its muted colors and sluggish movements like a worn-down machine. It's hard to feel the open sky's liberation while glaring into the morose solemnity below. The sun's warmth seeps through my skin while my tears grow heavy and fall, first a drop, then a release while the humidity billows up. In this suspended moment, I see gold lining the buildings and the leaves sparkle below. I start to dissolve as I see the  warm, gilded picture of everything, all at once. I feel at ease and dissolve until all I hear is a collective sigh.

The tide is coming in.
Off in the distance, I see young swells building, aging, ignorant of whats to come.
Using the ocean floor like a springboard to launch itself into a force to be reckoned with.
All these individual elements, the ocean's collective energy divided among its waves; fractals of something much larger.
In their greatest moment, they come crashing down, seemingly ceasing to exist.
I stand on the shore, a bystander, observing the energy return to the source, ripples being created from the death of waves.
Their relevance lasting as long as the shores remain stained.
And in this moment, I feel better about my own mortality; knowing that my relevance doesn't end when my body dies, that my energy just goes to feed the swell of another wave to come.
And I remain a pillar, unmoved.

The diseased roots have come to
lay bare. My fear so strong, this one thing secretly
paralyzing me, feigning it be a natural
friend or even the paper on the wall, written in
reflecting ink, permeating every part of me.

When time calls out for the necessity of my
bold action, I will run out into fire for another
but for myself, I hold no peace. So how can one

come out for other beings like this? It’s no

fact of toil, the lot befallen to us, all
the weary, is love. So when these hearts have the space
to call for justice, the lone world will tremble
from our contradictory bravery, unity in the
numbers, forsaken by only the giro templates.

If only this fear knew the strength I find
in lonely places, solely accompanied by sacred whispers
of revolution. How much we want it, I hear the call
in the night across the vastness.

The uncaring trees with pleading hands
will burn black, and the little birds fly free to
where fear no longer exists.


© July 28th, 2014