WAY OF THE EARTH

　　Death will come at him from every direction, but he will not die

　　You don`t think about the leaving

　　until the swim runs long and breath runs short

　　or the boat begins to burrow against your body,

　　rough sand scraping you between the sand

　　and the living.

　　You don`t know how to live when

　　half your clan, your happiness, melts

　　into the asphalt, leaving your scarred body

　　scared and vibrating between here and—

　　Why am I here when they are not?

　　You don`t know how to shoulderThe author`s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

　　your hot weapon when allies dip into the dirt

　　like crazed dolphins, manmade hail

　　littering the ocean of writhing beings,

　　sweat mingled with the unmentionable tears.

　　You don`t know how to lift the heft

　　of something broken like thick window panes,

　　shards of stained glass searing through fractured

　　heart and healing. So many ways to leave, you

　　cannot help but think.

　　You don`t know how it happens, lightning bouncing

　　through the bedroom or whispering under the train,

　　fierce metal rolling through the ticking tracks,

　　but as it rushes forward to meet you you ask,

　　What makes me so special?

　　You don`t know how to keep your eyes,

　　portals to the weary traveler, open,

　　something grander, deeper than sleep

　　summoning you towards the liquid light

　　and tender night after years of dwelling.

　　The way of the Earth is rumbling through the souls

　　of more than just our feet, fiercely or tenderly carrying

　　all of us towards the something we ache

　　to fear

　　or know.