nail down these errant arms that point to transgressions shared.
Silence these thoughts of rescue, in faith I have tried to feel
your light remaining sequestered, unreachable, my soul in despair.
For I believe.
Blinked and read too much,
the song is sung, the voice croaked and gone.
Afraid, the white sheets of history rise,
the blinded eyes of fear unite.
With coming darkness this safe haven betrayed,
our empathy weighted down with dismay.
All becoming, we are the accidental slaves.
She is afraid of age,
oblivious to the shining grace that her earned years entail.
She is the silken moth encased within a chrysalis
of its own eternally burning flame.
She is flight and fancy, without wings amongst us.
In this age of downward slanted, otherwise occupied eyes,
Her smile enchants, deep and real and always uncompromised.
She is light, she is dream, she becomes us confused, as is her way.
Crucify me, for I believe.
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