Saturday, January 28, 2006

The Fights On My Hand...

rapaet, repaet, repeat,
tired use of language
seas of fog on western shores
eastern skies fly through endless outcasting of strangers and new dress
and you see me sit in electric
you saw my hand clapping my scars
I thank you they have almost healed

But I am...
I am wordless...
gratitude for seconds of meeting

I did not know your colour
the colour beauty
they didn't do that, not the ones you thought would cut me
you have prayed for me

when i walk
i forget to hear silence...

you have healed me...

here are a few more seconds...


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