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.