herbavore
Bluelight Crew
For Milo and Marina
Even the soul itself
Can splinter into nations,
Deny the common language of the heart and mind,
Devolve into a Babel of dialects.
Self-inflicted scars worn with pride,
Our tribal markings:
To belong is to cleave apart.
Even this diseased calm ceases to pass for peace.
Along these heavily guarded borders.
The space between skirmishes are
no more than choked intakes of air
Between great sobs.
To dream our way back
Is merely longing.
But to chart a course of intention
through each fragile moment,
Slowing the breath,
Becoming the muscular pull of the oar
Through the luminous green river,
we re-enter meaning,
meeting each others eyes,
choosing hope.
Even the soul itself
Can splinter into nations,
Deny the common language of the heart and mind,
Devolve into a Babel of dialects.
Self-inflicted scars worn with pride,
Our tribal markings:
To belong is to cleave apart.
Even this diseased calm ceases to pass for peace.
Along these heavily guarded borders.
The space between skirmishes are
no more than choked intakes of air
Between great sobs.
To dream our way back
Is merely longing.
But to chart a course of intention
through each fragile moment,
Slowing the breath,
Becoming the muscular pull of the oar
Through the luminous green river,
we re-enter meaning,
meeting each others eyes,
choosing hope.
