Writer, you
that can call the demons away: close your eyes and open your mouth. Let the
words that flow through your blood tumble from your lips. Weave a world where
the problems are small, where the beauty is endless. Tell me that it will all
turn out by the finish, and let me believe you.
Our words
are tiny, and strong. Our thoughts are loud. We agree again and again, until we
don’t. Your voice can be heard across the mountains, can light fires and send
messages. Mine barely rises above the ashes, asks quietly if the embers can be
put out. We are one, and we are discordant. Your are the whole of my identity,
and you are a drummer I barely recognize.
Cover me,
clothe me, sing me to sleep. I am yours, and you are my defender. Say these
words that I was never meant to, and mean them. Let me cower at your breast
while you call my enemies away, as we watch them shrink at the light of your
burning sword.
No comments:
Post a Comment