bind

I will give you a promise
I should not give
we will not find an end
we will be ghosts in the old ruins
fifty stories high
in the least winds
in the next tomorrow
we will yet stream
above the smaller birds
high above what diaspora lights
burn in patterns I do not know
in what may be a night
I do not know
we will haunt the bands
of utopian peoples that come
hungry, desperate, worn, strained
climbing the spine of lost elevators
fifty stories high
they will bring us their stories
of beasts that were wolves
made only for children
they will not be children
they will bring us their songs
made only for children
they will not be children
we will give them our curses
we will give them our warnings
we will give them our promise
they will not find an end


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147 Words

2018-01-15 19:00 -0500