In his own time-at the last trumpet blast
He awakens to understand all languages, all acts
Of treason and all signs left behind. The complex
Race of the blood and the weeping of
Brothers in arms. He comes back breathing metamorphasis
Into prophecy-rising as a clown of parody
Growing stronger feeding on the facts of anatomy,
The eternal anchor
Rising again to devour
And deliver the blind darkness to light-

Searching for his own face on the streets
Banners of recognition on iron guards and court-yards
Ablaze, counting the tears as though
They were lit up windows from afar-that spark
Of brightness in the dark
The coaxing kind words of strangers
Beckoning from the edge of a building
A foot incased in a shoe, standing right on the edge-
In his own time:to be fully awake and not a sleeper walking
With the absence of a kiss that danced and hands
That ached to have known the seeded tree of limitless roots.

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“To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are”

Pablo Neruda

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  • Donna19
    Donna19about 2 years ago

    Very beautiful work

  • Thank you so much.

    – BiographyofRed8

  • ariyahjoseph
    ariyahjosephabout 2 years ago


  • thank you so much for your continued support!

    – BiographyofRed8

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