Osas βοΈπ π π₯ π
@warpedpoetic
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REFLECTIONS 1
I know how morning wakes & makes supple its limbs again, how it rubs the worn down nubs of our sleep & enough static to make light enters our eyes & gently like a prehistoric piece of art, we emerge, a listening device.
Without our audience, the birds, the dew, the dim gaze of dawn will never rise. There will be no knowledge of the world, something worth remembering, worth retracing to its roots. In waking, the world knows its history, remembers itself & what it has done to survive.
In these times of men, these biblical times filled with rumors & strange fingers running through our minds, what stories we tell of ourselves cannot be trusted to be true. We make public gestures & demand attention. We lie. But when we open our eyes at dawn, for a brief instant all illusions melt away. The fog dissipates & we stand naked before ourselves & see.
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