Meade – Reasons


Not to fold the sleeves of morning
but to wait her table
nor douse the wick of stars
but to lift the curtain

Nor scar the meadows of Monet
instead stroke petals
not to curse the guns of John Lennon
but imagine

Not to strangle
earth of blood
but to soothe
her veins

Not to scream against the heart
but suture its gash cradle its pain
crawl into its cave
pluck thorns from its flesh

Not to close
the eyes of children
but to light
their candles

Put dancing shoes
upon their feet
open the door
let them waltz to the moon



Patrick’s bio

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