My Word

I was waking up every night
in frightened hands.

For this, the sands of my heritage
drifted without wonder.

Every sky torn asunder.
Discursive blunders thundering

like furnaces in this moment
of discontent. A life spent in servitude,

shitty attitude to match.
Snatches of a fury furthered by love.

A breath above the clamor, I caught sight
of the fractured light of my word.

-r. miller

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