The Pathkeeper.




O brother,
Feel free to stand, alone,

By the door,

Of the broken boulevard,

This day, slips neath fingers,

Sore with sunshine, 

And sleepless windows;

Velvet curtains, falling low.


O brother, 

Look around, the world is tending,

Stitching humor,

In all lives,

So take these children, peeking naked,

Out the courtyard,

Into open, like bluejays;

Harping heaven.


O brother,

Show them the halls, of our fathers,

Fading slowly, 

On the walls, threaded stories,

Like a fresco, freshly painted;

With old snow.


O brother, 

Let them wonder, and beware,

Of all the things that seems to be as the things they seem to be,

Treading softly, through the tar,

Shorter steps to travel far.


O brother,

Hold them dear,

Teach them dreaming, and to live,

Not as postcard, but a paper,

Forever speaking words that ought to be whispered out aloud,

In every ear, at all doors,

Beneath all streetlights,

Under all floors.


O brother,

When all is done,

And you waver, old and tired,

White eyed with rust,

Search your pocket, feel the key,

Take a step back,

Set yourself free.








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