We the children of creation
are all scratching at the chance to express our inner will.
So I will
scratch and scrawl on bathroom stalls and cave walls.
Splitting atoms into infinity,
While standing upon the tilled fields of human drudgery.
I watch Suns rise
upon the backs of priest and prostitute alike
While Hitler and Ghandi spit politics
In the smoky hallways of all days.
Let our story be told through the whispered sins of church hymns.
Let us set the untold Truths free
from the in betweens
Of our broken dreams
Hiding there in the darkness and the depths of night
waiting there silently to receive the light
Baptized in the fires of death and life
It is here in the inspired musings of our vulnerability
That we create.
Let our creations breathe meaning,
Into the echoes of our memory
So we may have a place in the heart of eternity.
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