by Priyanka Thomas
There once was man
Who held his heads
In rage he shamed
And gained no thing
With grace around his waist
His eyes were blind to this
His ears ashamed of bliss
His mind’s too broke to fix?
The Circle rises high above
And sparkles die until the dusk
To see again through eyes of gold
Try to breathe the air of cold
Of chills to touch the heart and pour
Into a soul who thirsts no more
To reach to kill to reach to spill
The inner gore and thirst no more
For beauty high above your eyes
You’ll see, I promise
You’ll see
Distance changes point of view
Grace transforms and makes it new
To see again through eyes of gold
Pureness held by future’s folds
Present give to some not seen
Past in river’s basket’s streams
Return refined
Glazed in ice
Shame’s suffice
To
Make your butter churn again
Make your flies transform to bend
Through fields of grace of bugs and gore
Be beauty flying, found, transformed
Insects truly blessed from floors
Reachable under the grime
Left no thing
In outer’s time
Come, you see, into the new
Man, you always had it in you.
