mite

Free bird flying, universe expanse,
Constrained to the airways of atmospheric dance,
Held to my breath, if I leave I'm done,
If I'm done I pass the limits to be with the freedman's son.

Fireballs hurled heavy and quick,
Signals wondering whether the last thrown will stick,
Ashes pile up, men carried as bricks,
Death hustles slowly to snag its pick.


Practicing the art, flowing once I've got the start,
Pulling out my hair, mimicking the tension in my heart,
Tearing my life apart, words cut deep leaving their shards,


Things are changing...He is on the move.