Upon open streets with no people
A memory clings. Is it in the cracks
Where the soul of man can be found?
From here to the horizon’s end the ground
Holds the resemblance. Follow the tracks
To the church, mosque, or temple.
No sermon today as the pews stand in silence,
No children crying, no harmony from whence
The room echoed. . .just a place without balance.
So heart broken in it all
I wilt prepared for dark things.
Hit the crest, pass tidal spikes,
Wake the storm from slumber deep.
Existence without a beat
Is a war with no escape.
My knees buckle and my fists hit gravel,
I get back up despite the new blood.
We’re all waiting just to see what will unravel
First, our hearts or our bodies. A great flood
Towers over the landscape we travel.
The soul of a man is inside of his chest
Because he gets to choose his own quest.
What’s worth bleeding and dying for?
Choices define people by what they swore.
See this horizon? Freedom. It’s glorious and humbling.
If you ever do go will you hold on or start fumbling?
Vasha'Lakar 