One note. One song. One people risen in one protest to one wrong. The cries reach out loud and long. They are the resounding tones of a gong. Together we create the hot coals of change which can only be touched by a tong. We. We reach. We reach the stars and beyond. We are the atmosphere clinging heavy on the gravity of this world. We pull up and away as the weight pulls down and we eye the struggle that we’ve become.
One choice. One question. One answer waiting on the tip of our tongue. The words stumble out drunk and stung. We are the vibrancy of a metal rung. Together we build the air escaped from a lung. We. We are. We are only young. We are the age that waits to level the valleys of skin. We still do not operate on the motion of the system that we have become.
One chance. One moment. One action moved from the mission deep within. The muscles creak out rusty and thin. They are the reverberating waves of the din. Together we choreograph the dance and spin. We. We leap. We leap through the hoops. We are the air compressed by the stress of the jump. We lift with the apparent ease of birds while feeling the friction of feather pressed bone.
One life. One earth. One human standing on a barren plateau. My heart beats out deep and low. It is the rhythmic cadence of a solo. Together we compose a masterpiece so much better than a rondeau. We. We belong. We belong intertwined. We are the completed circle of artist and art. You are the Deity. I am the craft. I reached through life and You carried me home.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009