The Sky Before The Storm
A memory you can’t forget
A place that never felt like home
Is a conversation you never had
I want to write poetry that says something real.
Something that listens while it speaks.
Something deep that digests before it eats.
Something to move you without feet.
The ache of morning after a windless night
Is like a person you still hear in your head
A spoken word that was never said in a book that was never read
A tree split from the weight of waiting
The way silence pools under bare branches
A path made by things that don’t wear shoes
Branches arguing with light at the end of the day
When someone said the sky ends, and you believed it
You were told to dream big so you can achieve it at the same-time
The fake real world told you to be realistic.
The first lie that made your heart race after it was told to your face
The moment you realized grown-ups didn’t always know.
The night the power went out and didn’t come back the same
For the young dreamer who dreamed big
and let their imagination run wild
has come back down to earth
and conformed to a mainstream world.
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