The weight of breathing...
The weight of knowing...
We undo ourselves with these little things.
I found myself longing for arms, but found the ground instead.

Whatever was said behind the lines was kept open for all to read
The pens ran rampant with rage
Under the onslaught of words, we lay broken
With no ink to reconnect our sounds

The broken children lay sleeping, lips tied, tongues locked
days dragged on while the night wept for sun
Of all of the dreams the little ones scheme,
none could forget what they forgot to be

finish it
© 05.14.07, m.m.