I see you roam the streets, like you are lost,
trying to find, your very own start;
Being shoved and pushed and being attacked,
by demons that have unknown pacts;
You become, give, save up things,
inside of you, are newer dreams;
Everything you are, that you are not;
Your world is a wheel, and you are a shaft;
Spinning the everyday with precision,
common hope and brute decision;
Few souls are woven in crystal bags,
given no choice in what they have;
You are one with the silver lining,
in that, that you knew all and from the very beginning;
Hot air rises.
Settle the prices.
Unjam that door.
Tell your story, in unabashed thoughtful prose.
Collect what’s scattered,
pieces of you, you shared as collateral.
the before and after,
It should not be a barter,
when you say, “I am”.
© soulreserve 2015