The Obsidian, The Sand

You are the tree, the mountain, the
night sky with an infinity
of stars
giving the faintest
shadow to your
and there are words

There are words spoken
meant to hurt, to
divide your internal forces
to grind, to
remove small parts
of you
at a time

You are the obsidian, the sand, the
shards of earth left-over
from creation, from
the insides of stars
immoveable, unstoppable
great deep gravity

They are words created by men, women
simple sounds strung
together…standard across
across time, they are
poised, meant
to hurt

You are the effortless ocean
washing the land clean
forever moving,
being, a harmonic
of yourself
you will be here there
with the stars

They are words, jumbled compact
echoes between our
own fears…about
us, them, love, hate
and we are always thinking
they have edges,
knives for stabbing

You are untouchable by frequency, by
the shake of fist
how would a mountain
if it even heard
the faint
curse of man?

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