Life from Beaten Skin

Would that weeping could turn misery to anthems
I’d weep a valley of tears if it might ease your bitter sorrow
I’d shed a single drop of blood in earnest, if it might calm the waters
that divide you and i
 
 
There’s no turning back from this i suppose
another season’s passing touch,
lingers but a moment before disappearing
off into the distance where the wolves await
the growing moon to wax full
before dying again under their watchful eye
 
 
I’ve done it i suppose,
I’ve made this leaf,
every vein hand crafted through recognition
every capillary running across the skin,
unique
 
 
You never miss anything as long as your eyes are open
but the burden to create order out of nothing
to whisper light
it’s impossibly heavy, even for lovers under the autumn moon
 
 
when you look into that mirror
you see absence again
as youth falls off, shake the dust
 
 
as hearts grow weary under the bonds of separation
shake that heavy dust off a once
slow beating heart
 
 
feel the algorithm pulse life into your broken veins
and know your tears are the language of God
what’s written into your beating heart
ineffable
 
 
If tears could turn to anthems
every country might have one.
Instead, we have a basket full of tears
and a broken song upon our lips
we haven’t created beauty
we’ve created madness
 
 
if hearts could mend from ashes,
i’d pour out rivers of stitches
but as it stands,
would that beauty could rise from empty dust
and life from beaten skin

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