But first to be crushed
We give it life with every breath
And even in death it lives
Not quite vanquished
But quieter/cast-out/unwashed
It haunts us like a wraith
Not knowing a home
Willing us to give it a name
So that it might speak
And let us know we are
Watched by more than chance
Or the whim of vengeful gods
It is whispered
In the darkest places
Like a spell
And to tell is a curse
Worse than imagining
Yet we hold on
Riding the swell
Until the streets fill again
With young people running
Like thieves
Who have shoplifted love.
© shaun patrick green 2011
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