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It is late in the world the heroes have all been tamed my knife is dull, no blood to give but do not listen to me My tears look for clouds to carry them forth drowning the earth but do not listen to me You are the whet stone and the blade to cleave truth from the stars will we listen to you He holds my hand below the drought his voice is multitudes The day has come raise us before the years make dull the stones can you hear us You were the guides we are the journey trees grow in our tracks can you hear us We offer feathers for your minds to fly beyond fear and greed can you hear us I let go, and where they walk, a forest rises are you listening
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AuthorHarilaos sees poetry as a form of sorcery because it involves the magical binding of words that allow us to say the unsayable and to speak to experiences that are both universal and personal at the same time. Archives
August 2024
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