lily-pads on the cold water
Paper boats gliding through
uncertain eddies
- - -
Soda bread chewy in all the wrong places
Trying not to gag
Telling grandma
Its lovely through heaving breaths
- - -
Sprinting, running through uncut fields
To silver streams at the bottom
Sharp stones turned ankles
Concrete lanes to other worlds
Where imagination lived alongside wooden swords
The tiny house and its caved in roof
And rusted pump on the dried up well
lily-pads on the cold water
floating
drifting always always out of
…
…
reach.
we were
More years ago than either of us can remember we were driftwood, even then
And then, washed up upon a shore we were the shelter we didn’t know we needed
And the town we became grew, and we supported more than each other, and we had to become more
And so we did. We grew and grew until we were everything around us and we were nothing at all.
But still, we were. We were the roads and tracks of our new world, and the blood that flowed.
We became the lives of others and the thoughts in the dark and the shadows at their doors.
We were the fears in their dreams and the hope in their futures. We were the rains that fell
and turned their barren lands to crops. We were the thunder that echoed in their valleys and the lightning that lit their nights.
We were the nameless
We were the memories of things that didn’t happen.
We were everything. And we were nothing.
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