Back then, I chose to be engraved. Through hue of pride I hoed wet cement in my own way, vandalizing worse than regular blackened gum chewed hard and from me spent then stamped to pavement. Becoming pavement itself.
Now what remains? Have I dared to hear the passing names, the children, the silence, the birds, the buses, the pulse as I have hardened my heart?
Do I now even hear me still deep within me as if planted like a dream, life eternal called to rise above this salted corpse? Is my name able to peel away and fly like a magic carpet ride? Or is there tar upon my feathers? Are there tears between my letters?
I wonder now if truth stand stills, or breathes?
I hear God is truth.
Seems I am indeed free to believe, if only I could get out of the way. And not be stuck on me.
Published by The Black Lion Journal, TWD Magazine,2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem