8/13/2019

A Poem by Andre Peterson

To feel the turburlence of a plane at 2:30 in the morning, redefining your poise.
To shout loudly into the clouds only to hear the echos of your voice.
To live with silence.
To live without will.
To pour into a cup that shall never fill.

But after many miles you see fields and crystal lakes.
You smell the cedar and taste the air from a different place.
This house is not your home.
Nor is stale wishes of yesterday.
Something changed inside and you leave instead of stay.

Eyes hold magic but should be shared with the world.
May we die in the realm of memories instead of the arms of some fool.
To be the one who knows the shape of their heart, beating within their mighty chest.
To become anything possible.
To live without holding their breath.