Ryan James

 

Angels in chalk.

 

Angels in Chalk.

 

 

 

The truth of all freedoms is a break in the rain

and I wait patiently for the next wave to teach me.

Life has a centre and I tether to it every idea that weighs me down.

I am the keeper of my own secrets

and yours too.

Behind that which is forceful I remain patient

knowing that one day you will join me.

I draw angels in chalk where devils play

and melt into sandcastles to hide the notes passed

where desks used to stand.

But now the schools are empty.

Children play by the rules of the guillotine

and ideas are coveted until they can be encased in silver.

We are the generation of gold

hold envy to midas

prostituting our kiss for whatever we can get in return.

When hearts are bartered

and integrity leveraged we blur the boundaries

between service and gratification.

Self worth hostage to a list of notifications.

But I cannot give up as exhausted as I nearly stand

chalk in hand barely one step ahead of the teachers eraser.

Draw your angels where you rest your head

and hope that they keep reminding you

to draw them again after the downpour.  

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