Movement stirs the beast within stillness keeps it at bay. Mountains moved, sins attached it never comes out to play. A ritual born of angers words keeps liquidity harbored inside. Forcing winds blow truths but not past benevolent pride. Crystal figures stand and watch as a babe is passed around. Lost, beaten, battered, and bruised...

The world says we are strangers But I’m really not so sure. The example left by my ancestors Left us feeling a bit insecure. A cross hung up on a grave I kneel upon the land. I’ve taken nothing that wasn’t given Yet everyone holds out their hand. I’ve left pieces of myself in places...