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Your hands are shaking,
Her heart is racing,
His earth is quaking,
We are all breaking.

Please stop saying
That we're going to be okay.
I just don't know how to keep facing
the problem at hand.

Please stop saying
That it's going to be alright.
It won't be, at least not tonight.
This is more than just a fight.

Please stop saying
that they're feeding us lies!
We can see that they are
with our own two eyes.
If only I could close my eyes,
And make it go away.
If only I could cut it off,
And never be its prey.

If only I could end it now,
And never be afraid,
If only I could fade away,
Become a solemn shade.
 Jul 2012 Jordan Butler
mûre
your deepest scars
lie in your brain
where i cannot kiss them
until you let me make-better
kit, you've trusted hands to pet you
and trotted into snares
more than once
and now there's a vast expanse of
"come on out now, you're safe from harm"
far as the eye can see
wide open green and golden this-is-really-good
but you're haunted by steel and teeth
throwing you to the ground
a pain memory that makes you bite
until the ecosystem i built cannot remember
how to make flowers.
let the earth i've grown need you
without fear of what anchors you
let the sky i've thrown adore you
without suspicion of why it's bothered to watch
little fox, let me cultivate this garden around us
because it's a good one
more beautiful with you
the deepest scars lie in your brain
where i cannot kiss them.
Let me make-better
because i'm made better
by you
let me keep you, little fox
and i'll grow you flowers
the most beautiful you've ever seen
unto this little earth
gilded with trees
like the owl and the pussycat
my fox and me.
You wish to believe in the opening and closing of flowers
in falling stones filled with meaning
in preposterous positions and overwhelming frissons;
yet you are old and life has forced its finger into your stone face;
to excavate a blood place;
a tiny pool of black sweat;

an eye
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
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