I am dreaming again,

of the hurricanes

that are yet to blow

our worlds;

And these pieces of paper

on which we wrote our songs

how they will rise

with the wind

before their meaning

is blurred

before they are thrown out

against will and wish

away from their home

and from under the familiar pen.


I am dreaming again,

of the cracks

ripping us apart

that will become permanent;

The thick lines

of dogma and doctrine

rinsed in the frankincense

of religion;

No boundary

No disguise

No balm

will erase

how we’d felt. Once.


I am dreaming again,

of the clear nights

and sentinel moon

when verses sung

by tear-streaked children

standing erect

looking over their shoulders

will be our only reminder

of the changes we sought

and damages

that could never be paid

in full.

© SoulReserve 2016

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