Our parents are fighting wars that do not belong to us.
But there is gray love in our hearts that keep us tied at their intentions,
Because that blood continues to run through all of us.
Where do we go from here, together?
Can we go, together?
When the wake of our parents ripples pulls our friends into the tides,
From what lines will you hear the word scream “family!”
And to which side of the line will your head turn to hear?
The seagulls begin to sound like owls.
My cries begin to sound like weakness.
And I am sitting at the top of this wave.
I didn’t start this wave, however.
Just found myself at the top of a mountain with a two sided landslide.
Now, I look down at both descents- to my family, see my friends,
witness my heart descending as well.
Our friends are fighting wars,
that their parents started.
Wars that do not belong to them.
Wars that may not belong to me.
Wars that may never end.
I was born with a sword in my back pocket.
I used it like a cane, to keep my balance on this hike up the mountain.
I used it as a crutch, to ward off my problems.
My problems, the wars at which we are all chained.
The wars, that do not belong to us.
The wars that we did not start.
Just randomly found ourselves awake, in an orchestra singing beauty,
and began seeing- that seeing- was a gift that we may have thought we deserved,
but in the end, we are still fighting wars.
Wars that we did not start.
But wars that we can see.
Our ancestors started wars,
that do not belong to us.
That war became our home.
And our home is filled with friends and family.
Our home holds our hearts.
Our hearts began feeling suffering that does not belong to us.
Our hearts began suffering.
Our hearts are not lying.
Our hearts can not lie.
The truth peeks behind burning bushes on the decent,
on both sides of a lonely peak.
But it is our friends and family that are burning them.