How does one
even begin
to drain the
hate under their skin,
to squeeze
it in and spit it out,
to clear the
vessels clogged with doubt?
How does one
begin to trust
when evil
wills and evil must,
when anger
bites and anger thrives
on words
that cut like poignant knives?
How does one
begin to see
that which
was drowned beneath the sea,
that which
was cast in such disguise
that it
befell on blinded eyes?
How does one
begin to feel
the tombstone
weight that made them kneel,
the legacy
of hurt and sorrow,
the prophecy
of doom tomorrow?
How does one
begin to love
from down
below to high above,
from wretchedness
to gratitude,
from
loneliness to solitude?
How one
does, I do not know
I weave my
verses on the go,
I sow my
dreams with timely seeds
I bless my flowers and my weeds.
I bless my flowers and my weeds.
No comments:
Post a Comment