XXXII
Winter's breath, like my heart, is cold and fragile;
A reconstruction, The wind bites at an angle
Opposite to my face as I keep my eyes to the ground.
Dirty light bleaching the concrete, littered here and there
With weeds, it reminds me of the wallpaper in the place
I grew up, the air vibrates with the possibility of harm
And then rushes up all at once, like a fist to a face.
These moments feel like memories, a different place
A different child. Stood on a short well, trying to see over
A taller one, looking back I can't see who I was.
And then, looking upwards, with my home school haircut
And my arms covered in grass stains, what did I see?
I can't feel connected anymore, and it fills me with such sadness
Like a cold winter wind, like an unreturned called
Like the crack of a bat against a piece of ground
Burned up and helpless, I really dont know
I really dont know
__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."
The Gospel of Thomas
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