(no subject)
We reach a point in this night,
like so many others before it,
where our voices echo fully
within us, and without us
the blindness of the world
slowly heals until the spinning
seems to stop, and the shouts,
pleading and agonized, fall silent
simply to hear the orange light
of a morning, thunderous, free.
like so many others before it,
where our voices echo fully
within us, and without us
the blindness of the world
slowly heals until the spinning
seems to stop, and the shouts,
pleading and agonized, fall silent
simply to hear the orange light
of a morning, thunderous, free.