Poetry

The weight on our shoulders

Is not a burden to bear.

It is unexpected in so many ways, yet

there was never a chance for us to avoid it:

the path seeming tangent but twisting and connecting just in time.

Train tracks flipped by a single switch

that altered the course of everything.

Solid ground to stand on, legs strengthened by hours walking

and arms willing to hold no matter the babble.

Forging days into weeks,

this is how it has been.

Outside, they do not see it. Outside, they see haste.

But those eyes are untrained in our ways

to warp

that mysterious river

simply by welcoming it with open hearts.

Poetry

Evaporate

Engines chug away

propelling the clouds into new positions

that people read

as sacred teachings.

Oblivious

to the mechanics behind their prophets.

Those maintaining the perpetual motion

no longer speak or hear

in a common tongue.

Language

is lost to them now.