TRUE ARTISTE REVIVIFICATION | Sept 2017 | Page 20

FRESHWATER

I am that smothered rose.

I lay trampled beneath your giant toes,

Watching the last shard of might creep

off me as the day goes,

In the sunlight, the bloody raindrops,

and even when the earth snows.

A death and a rebirth.

My future, past and present,

They merely look at me

As I am wrapped in this pain,

This unending blankness that lives within me,

This thing that rips me into lifeless shreds,

This smudge that has remained unclean

since I last saw the morning light because I am buried beneath you.

I once clad myself in ivory to a steel battle.

Like a lost butterfly daringly flapping her wings into a storm,

I thought I knew doom, but now I know darkness.

The same way I know this one thing:

A will of hope is to a man like freshwater.

A drink from it will always and surely stitch a pound of strength to his weary soul.

So, I am that smothered rose because I let myself be.

Take your Goliath of a foot off me and let me breathe.

Let the morning breeze steal a pair of eyes and help it find me.

Stretch your hands out to mine until my grip is full.

Be like freshwater.

Be everything I need, but always be you.

LIME LIGHT

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