Written by Megan Leonie Hall on Saturday the 14th of April 2012
The source that runs beneath the word,
Trickles through the gate unheard,
By man-machine of drudge reborn
Or soldier bred to battle dawn,
Dwindles sadly soon from babes,
Shaped to join a mad parade.
The infinite dead renew their kind,
Prolong their deafness, love the blind.
Send them on their way in slumber.
Sculpt the dreadful dream in wonder.
Do not cry. Do not ask why.
Live to die. Shun the sky.
Words that nurse your shadow self,
Nights of sorrow smiled in stealth,
Letters flick away like beams,
Tie your tears at the seems.
Choose to breathe beside the pain,
Choose to lose the fear of rain,
Choose the love of source again.
Do not deny.
The river's high.
Gentle light it moves through me,
Melba warm the glow I see,
Sound of sun above I hear,
Big song floating, running clear.
I wish it here among the words,
To unify the flight of birds,
I listen for the sound of air,
Beneath great wings that are not there......