The Horizon

The horizon,
a string that hangs freedom around its neck,
a siren upon the heavens of the earth,
far away from this land.
But he runs
forward,
Because his home became the mouth of the sea.
And freedom is this simple joy,
to be covered in soft sand,
alive.

**Even as I do support national security, I do believe that extending empathy to those in the heights of war and tragedy is necessary. I do hope this poem touches some minds!**

"Bells getting louder, louder in here."
"Bells getting louder, louder in here."

But is not loud in this head of mine.
Only flesh, ripping out of a chest,
As pieces within me sink
while I am still stable,
standing
Foot on dirt,

But I am sinking.
I am sinking.
Foot through the dirt.

Which is to say
Grief is an imperfect theory,
a useless syringe
and science cannot perfect it,
You see
It can suck the life out of him
But I cannot squeeze it back

So I am sinking.

Because one minute it was a spot in your chest,
The next,
Doctors turned it into a bullet
Poof.
What miracle that a godless being
turned holy.

While I am still sinking.

Here God,
Take it all.
Everything I've laid my eyes on,

And I'll be
weightless in this euphoric
silence.