The hard beauty of a perfect mistake
hums a slow lullaby
in the back of a
Getting it to stop takes more than
History, we’ve been told, has a way of repeating
down to destroy the already
devastated structures, compromising
everything until it becomes nothing, and
Nothing becomes our claimed history.
Aberrantly, this song of the past
reflects a distorted version meant to
engineer mistrust and fear.
Under rubble, though, there is always
new growth – tender green shoots
conscious only of the sun and their
orders: to stretch upward,
venture outward until
every bud has the chance to be
relevant, simply because it wouldn’t
die, refusing to stay in shadow…
pulsing, mouth to the sky, inhaling and
exhaling the freedom of letting go.
Reflexes trigger more slowly as we
find that we are capable of
enormous leaps of faith that
counter all of the lies we have told ourselves–
this is how we know it is love.
Poetic form: Acrostic – using The Poet’s Garrett list of poetry forms as a starting point for experimentation…trying to write in all the forms. I’ve done this before, but I used the Poets.org list, which is much shorter.
Artist credit: PJ Morley
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