By the author of Quilless: An Astrological Journey of Poetry & Wordcraft
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what if we give up the desperate fight?
what if we let the day rest at the night?
what if we mourned the loss of our pain?
what if we let lies and strain down the drain?
what if we called on our shadows to dance?
what if we made our worlds with our hands?
what if we trusted Most High with our stakes?
the high ones, the low ones, the woodens we break?
In most of our time that we choose the wrong rhymes
we cry and we scream over waste and decline
identities woven 'round pictures of preening
we spend so much time oversculpting and screening
that we don't even notice we're bleeding out bleeding
oh, life force gets siphoned in so many ways
gets stolen and swollen on y-ending days
if we forget to cover our bases with care
prioritize job chase o'er tending our hair
it's recommended to start at our home, so they say
so why do we throw our heart's home straight away?
for beliefs about shouldas, and couldas, and woulds
when we have all we need in our own neighborhoods?
even wanderers and nomads have homes nightly, you see
wherever heads lay is where the soul moves to pray
if we go down the chakras to the root we will find
it's to trust the body, the soles, not the mind.
