From the pen of a dying man
into a thousand dying hearts
through a thousand dying eyes,
he wrote and spoke of no more black madness,
And from the finger tips of an orphan child
into the belly of a pig
through hunger and innocence,
he feasted far from plastic box dinners,
From mother earth's own tears
into the blood of my brothers and sisters
through the last clean crimson vein,
we all bathed in the forgiving end,
And from the key's cut teeth
into the deadbolt mind
through nightmare awakenings,
we turned into a great many things,
And from ageless rose oceans
into towers of glass and bone
through the starless paths
I came to be,
Embraced in moments such as these.
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