a poem appreciating the power and reverence some pay

Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Forty-nine.

we who have seen
humanity holy
we have born witnesses
to the miracle of man-made
have to admit
at least
the astounding blinding beauty of it —
the overwhelming level of love of up above
high enough proof to turn pleasure to sin
make martyrdom make sense
make scholars and…

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a poem poorly worshipping our ancestors

Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Forty-five.

I know you didn’t live—

breathe
feast
fuck
find
fun
and die

for me.

I know you were
for the same reason we
are: to be.

But if your (our) blood hadn’t been so strong for so long
if your (our) destiny (dumb luck)
hadn’t been…

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