Stones
rise to the sound of harps
move, get ready - it's time to go.
clothes, face - hair
coffee, keys, pen in hand
ready to do this. THIS
work that brings my family
the comfort that I think they seek.
think positive - put on a good face;
elevate those around me,
do not dive down low.
home through rain spattered
cars, traffic, womb of my ride.
now here, so much moves
looking to be born and seen
shoving and reaching.
tonight i sit with broken heart
yet to mend, writing words to
brook my own freedom from
myself. This turmoil swirls
and moves of its own volition.
i pray and plead, and yearn
that someday, we may be here;
living as who we are,
all stones turned and with their
bright faces shining in the sun.
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