Broken. Free.

Sometimes there is a window of time
where we can speak of the unspoken,
the loud become mute at the sound of the crime,
like the shattering of a pane broken.
The ones trapped inside cry with relief
as if, all along holding their breath.
The pieces all scattered and bleed underfeet,
no one can take their eyes off the mess.

For, the breaking, it’s shocking
but the blood, ‘Are they faking?’
Did they not see our faces turn blue?
The wheezing and squeezing out sigh’s went unnoticed
Only a mocking great spectacle will do.

How can we all fit on top of a pinprick
With a great cavern of air all around?
The air filled with nothing but silence and stares
On what side can one find common ground?

The piercing, the bleeding, the shattering and screaming
Nowhere could be found on this earth.
‘Cept for the young man who died for an everlasting cause
For the way that we die, live and birth.


“Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.
The wild animals honor me,
    the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
 the people I formed for myself
    that they may proclaim my praise.” Isaiah 43:18-21

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