Untitled
I put all my fingers into the morning
and pulled out the birth of the nation
waiting for a cry that would make us
live
all these fingers can do is type
Imagine the fist it takes to defend
offenses
you can't see but the shadow cast
and what it gives off against raging
sun
You may think hushing away a newborn
idea
and sleeping the weight of the world
from your eyes
would make the words that much more
sweet
who's been a-pulling my head and yours
insisting we check against wrong or
illness
all we do is finally open our eyes
see the unknown surrounding of a
working world
kicking our way through our own
smallness
and going into arms not made for law
s.m.g.
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