We’ll Make It
Here comes the idle. Every day like manna and rain from heave’n hell, clouds of health, searing sunlike pain. Every word magic, love or shame. Smoke settles my spine like crows crying my dogma-debt defying name.
I’m not me. I never was. I am you and you and you, you see. We are glowing down a gold river, blind but true. Twin flames fighting here and now, lifted high as wind and waves allow. Drowning in memories, conjuring new game. What if we were okay, not being the same?
Will you fix me with your rules? Will you embrace my weird as I held you?
I am too heavy, for I tried to carry truth. Your wit, wisdom, or fear, dark and core cruel, all I swallowed to become me once more, hefted by homes like lazy Lazarus’ last day horror.
I picked patience from the pile and longsuffering too. I watched my woman move mountains that men and wounded maidens eschewed. Growing is pain and plucking, blossom to harvesting. Scraped knees from chants or disease, budding healers for scars and needs.
I hear the voice in the dark, calling to We, thus nurse our spark tenderly. The crows have lifted and carry my missives to queen and queerer land. I just need one hearer, one heart, one hand.
Throw my mind through ink and pages to errant nights and hermit sages. Caneless and candles we are, no matter our lot, painless tender or in final ages. If you’ve clout, let’s boast’n bust us both out, blazing bright from cowards and their cages.
I picked up your stone and hurled it to land like bone. I made worlds, freed by not being a me slaved to save, one to atone. I cry from endless waves. Come or hang dear brothers, little sisters, I swear you’ll never wade alone.