Thursday, August 2, 2012

Mortal Surge Plus Olympic Dynamics (Short Story Slam Week 24)

We are anxious,
We pant,
We shout like bullets slicing the space,
the frothing ocean,
The burning torch,
The foggy eyes of lost souls,
All confuse in unison,
staying put.
We seek the convergence of glances,
Feel breathless when being comforted,
The sky stares at us closely,
Penetrating the veil of our frankness,
Daring us to advance,
to be healed,
make whole,
and made clean.
We're along and never alone,
Connected and not secured,
Freed and yet invisibly caged,
We scream born and weep dying,
We're honored in the image of the dead,
We love the image of the to be born,
We shuddle to beget with children,
We shuddle not to beget with children...

Image Credit:, the new york times, msn at yahoo, Washington post...