First draft.

Soaring high
I realize why
I couldn’t see better
hate clouded
the stars
the moon

Hate floats
creates a fog that dims our
reflections of one another.

We are mirrors

Mothers, fathers, sisters, wives,

ancient grandparents

dust beneath our feet

in the ground,
where we fear hell

we still want

to see the stars.

Fearing hell only gets you so far

when you should live
above the ground.

Ashes run thick in our veins

reminding us what it’s like
to soar


(First spontaneous draft. Haven’t looked at it. will later. Feel free to comment or critique.)


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