I AM bickering, slippery, flickering
A wave crested on a shore, rolling back to the unknown
I AM shouting into the hands, the ears that hold my self.
Smiling intuitively, fearful and laughing, I cry.
I am craving, hungering, thirsting, for none other but He.
Yet it is not so, for the ears, they hold me back. Sane.
I cannot die; Running is solely mine. Into horizons, but quietly.
Flames, they fly. Voices, running amok. The earth spins. Stop.
Small sons, skewered souls, scurry, scurry, into the holes from which
You came. Loudly, deafening, with trumpets sound and wise mens' say,
You boast. I am not a poet.