this place
this compounded earth
home to fallen souls
the earthy ground
where tears of joy
dilute rivers of blood
but the flowers still bloom
and roots still rise.
see Maya Angelou.
this place,
ultimately,
beautiful, and abhorrent
swaying in the balance
of both these faces of ours
this compounded earth
living under
seemingly infinite
assailant-footsteps
is also home
beneath dancing feet
and innocence unbound
this place
where lovers fear
and the fearful run
the feared may run
some fleeting borders
lost to time perhaps;
myopic we can be
indeed
are we trying to
forget,
our feelings of love
at the simplicity of seeing
our vicious selves?
forgetting our mother's hands
and her lips
upon our foreheads;
she is not the queen
of this place, true.
but neither are those
who smoke our sight
and blind us so,
to all but plight.
