Meek

bury your demons, little one.

bury your traitors with ashes on their face

bury your skin tags behind your blood

and bury your alien suns.

let the others fall on their swords in the swallow of grass

let their passions be their demise

let their troubles guide the blade through their spine

and up the ridges.

You sit on your hands and silent your thoughts

the meek will inherit the earth

there is a meadow out beyond the frosted window

where the naked worm shivers in the sunlit dew

and you ran there once, a chip on your lip

You swore to the birds in chorus

and they answered brighter, clipping their wings faster

But the sunlight only echoes fears into darknesses

And deep breaths are always wet

You fought your toes into the friction of mud

And sat pondering unrelenting fury

What justifications are there?

What anger is worthy?

Where is righteousness in all this arbitrary landscape

Where no roots will grow

Where water only swirls?

Instead of cascading into the deepest depths.

We wrestle with air,

Just relent.