The Most Vulnerable Being, An I
I am none, or I am many
I am a sound of letters in the mailbox
I am a wishful dream that heaven was ensured
Yesterday.
I am a drop of salty tear
without a scope to survive
I am a cover page of a journal,
where I kill the beast
And as a scapegoat,
justify the gruesome killing
again, and again
I am a hope,
yet to know
how to spell or pronounce it
in a worldly manner
I am an hour of tranquility,
In a busy world
with a definition of
pulchritude in mind,
Defined only for me.
I am a childish yearning, a naivety
That kisses a wiser, enduring ground.
The most vulnerable being, an I
Before dying for that heavenly sound.
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