Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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There’s a home in that sky,
Blessed and cotton dream-like
Where ribs aren’t broken
And poking from the deep cuts made
By their gilded edges.
They try to trap these secrets
These small madnesses that lay silent
As dormant volcanoes,
Apparent but ignored.
Small cities of hope spring from within
Looking up with reverence
To an unfurling Heaven,
And futures as improbable
As the permanence of these lands.
Pristine clean white bone
Like the snow and fallen ash
Freeze and choke ideals, hope, love;
It can’t be allows.
Find the strength in the firm grasp,
The taut muscle shaped by each coming year
And battle the break, the snap, the failure
Of these gray cloud minds
That echo the sky only when
Day mutes shadow
And eye unshielded stare straight into tomorrow
Viewing rusting bridges,
Cracked roads,
Fallen buildings
Laid to ruin by unleashed nature.
We are born weeds.
We will continue on.
Thriving in our reach for an elusive sun
That rises forever tomorrow
Yet steals today of joy.
Please fight.
Rest, mend, heal.
Listen, be vigilant and on guard.
Hold sticks as swords
And perry ghost thoughts
Haunting each crooked threat
That eyes and mind allow.
Stay calm and your Vesuvian fate
Can starve while your heart grows
In the enriched soil of knowing
Love, self, good fortune.
And from behind the scarred cage
It will beat stronger
Staring at skies of daring blue,
The color of youthful eyes
Shaded with faith.


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