we will bury our dead
Day of the Dead, comprised of three total, ends today. I never celebrated it growing up, odd being half-Mexican, but I acknowledge and respect it. It is important to understand death alongside life, like effervescent shadows poured from the body flailing across these paths we take. Death entered my life at an early, developmental age. I can only implore meaning in this demurely if not gravely, utmost sincerest upon learning newfound ways to weep. I do not recall when I do, but strains of me concurrent to the melt of eyes, as burdens commit themselves to flee, collect at pools of this heart they shape-if only to shower the ones I love if ever disheartened, to wash and soothe their haggard souls. Here, eclipsed, to the day.
The whirlpool light, in the dark it bellows: All of your experiences are dreams from which you wake.
Spirals teach me
Of their pursuit
Of symmetry. In the justification
Of now, I witnessed the birth
Of a revolution. And, where was I?
I was busy dreaming;
I stayed busy plotting.
The whirlpool light, in the dark it bellows: All of your experiences are dreams from which you wake.
Spirals teach me
Of their pursuit
Of symmetry. In the justification
Of now, I witnessed the birth
Of a revolution. And, where was I?
I was busy dreaming;
I stayed busy plotting.