97 (05.11.2014)

At times all words seem strange and out of place
As though they don't exist or are not true
Like some strange mask that's placed upon a face
Distorting all realities from view.
A line of letters placed upon a line,
All muddled up as if they're being words,
As if they are a light that we can shine,
Into the place where God is counting birds.
I die at night time when I close my eyes,
My tongue sees things that I don't understand
Into the moonlit night our language flies,
When all alone we focus on the land.
I bless the words that spill out on the page,
As though they are the opening of a cage.

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