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
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
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
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