No Man an Island

Eyes who saw before
pull back the cataract film
like a leech against the blue.
See.
Ears who heard before,
rattle the hide stretched over
those deaf and dying drums.
Hear.
Hands who built the sky,
wring the fingers
and forget the swollen scars.
Heal.
Voice who spoke existence,
bite the tongue and
grind the teeth.
Speak.
Again.
Feel the earth tremble
above arthritic limbs
and wash away the cloud.
When the smoke clears
rolling off the horizon like silk
rippling over hillsides,
Wonder what world will remain.
See.
The light of victory peers
from behind some unknown shadow
and we wait.
When the smoke clears,
escaping our lungs
compressed
will we hear your trumpet
or fall before the first note?
Listen.
Feel the fingers snapping
under the weight we carry
like glass beneath the bricks.
We can not build
this alone
we can not hold
this alone
we can not
live
alone.

At this moment...

After 8,506,644 minutes of life...if my calculations are correct, I have come to four conclustions:

1. God does not want me to know everything.

2. Sleep is not always a guarentee.

3. No one is what they seem.

4. If stick a fork in a microwave, the results will be less than pleasurable.
--
~jack