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This poem was inspired by the ways in which we, as humans, choose to navigate life. Set in the 1920's. Erring towards how we connect with eachother in times of need, and our very human understandings of reactions.

Standing

Moobs_from_moobville_014by Pages Matter11 Jan 2015

Strength stares at you in the face,
Like a ghost in the window.
Singing a song in a melodic stupor,
She calls to you.
Find your legs.
This need not be a needless tale,
Of whimsical bard,
And lost lovers of the longest kind.
Nay,
This is a tale of psychosomatic strength,
Of mind mattering.
With the pitter-patter of tiny feet,
And a dance performed by wise men,
A single breath from a single life,
Silence is golden, painful,
Hope lingers in the air,
Forming droplets beneath eyes once lost,
Perfection remains still and calm,
Hearts climbing throats,
Limbs collapsing,
A cry is heard.
The song of life need not be of bird,
But rather,
The fabric of stories,
Woven with love and care,
Shaped by lightness of heart and darkness of tongue.
Spirit may be found in the strangest of spaces,
Amid trees,
Between caged hearts,
Beneath a lion's claw.
T'is not the way in which we stand,
But rather, how we choose to stand up.