What we may capture.

My sins will repeat themselves, even when
daylight nudges me, even when I am fully aware
of all the trust I have been building within myself.
We wilt like roses, living inside cliches when others feed
us and we somehow drink from the fountain of life,
yet never understand why or where we're supposed
to travel from there.
And the cinematographers focus on new angles,
editing out mistakes, cutting aged stories that only
cause our hearts to grow tired.
But those stories once colored us,
and though we still may decay, recovering from
what we learned would be temporary,
we are storytellers.
And our antiquity sounds within us until
we are living proof that we are not simply
bodies to gaze at in motion;
we are prayers and ink and newfound breath
and gasping roots and spring's brightest bloom and
rising sufferers and light seekers and followers
of

hope.

-
Written 5/03/14