or less
Beautiful.
I know that you hold
a smile,
even in the dead
of night.
And our heroes
are singing
tonight,
as we risk
the entirety
of ourselves.
We struggle to hold the candle's flame. They whispered in my ears, do not falter. You carry the histories and memories of generations. I struggle to hold the wax-encased wick- perpendicular to the ground. So the wax won't spill out. So it won't drip down its sides, leaving luke-warm trails, across fingers, solidifying on skin, dripping to the ground.
It is present,
sting of heat across
our skin.
But some days
it reminds me of
all the distant memories
of places I've never been.
I find strength in myself. I find that we all hold it, within.
I choose, and you choose. We all choose to find this, find that, find us.
I hope some day you will find us in the depths of our imaginations, and walk with us for a while. Our paths are different, our minds are different. Take a moment and feel what we feel, take a moment and become a little bit of who we are. We pace and we ponder and we paint pictures of what life should be, or should have been, or should never be. We are you and you are us and me.
Again I find myself in a field of golden-brown dreams. The words repeat. And yet the gestures hold something. You are more than your defeat. I reach my hands to cup the water, hold this liquid to your parched lips. We taste it. We waste it. We drink, we are refreshed, we drink again. We share in this and laugh with that. in mind.
As though we knew
to save this.
