Four- Rest


There’s a soul inside this body
a fortress and something golden
but it does not glitter
too matte for it does not care
it does not lure
you see the soul
is polished
when you realize
it’s the only prize you got


I approach the doors
they creak open
I am invited to sleep
the spacious room
the warmth is so pleasing
I lay there and listen
a drummer softly pats the hide
I lay here and listen
my heart is singing her lullaby


I dream of Your face
the lines they fall over themselves
Your mouth speaks of stories of old
You say there is wisdom in the ache of living
I dream of Your face
Your arms holding me close
Your eyes they blink slowly
and in Your embrace, I begin to understand
I dream of Your sky
I dream of Your sea
the earth is my home too
this body is my own too


The lines of Your face, old riverbeds
You carved the man out of soil
You bit the inside of Your cheek
and planted within him a soul
he deceived You
how could something so soft become so cruel?
and You watch
as the game continues on
in Your honor


I exit into the night
the desert has turned into a city
my blindfold in my pocket
I am still in ruins
is it truly an honor to bleed?
to Your horror I no longer weep
is it truly something to behold?
such softness can turn to cruelty
such tenderness can truly surprise
even those with no such thoughts


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