I know not the day I woke to your trees up high. I know I was awake all along somewhere deep inside.
I see the dirt paths paved for clean feet. I worship grains below nails of dirty sleet. I dig further and see the dirt so clean in everything thus far seen.
I hear hymns of white capped waves. I am the choir of children's play.
I feel angels drip in stormy skies. Akua1 shines golden eye when heavy clouds break, you are the prize.
I taste forbidden fruit, with Family as swallowing we grin. I taste the ground in liquid leaves. Rebutting consumer lies, we feast.
I smell the garden of grace, planting flowers upon my face. I smell sweat in hugs over love ties. I smell the things we burn, smoke emancipates our lives.
I know not the day I awoke to the senses you breed. I know today, I can finally BE.
1 Akua- Hawaiian term for God or Spirit