Falling Concept

Nine black boxes float above nine black tables, slick with rain

Three beams of light crack into tables, striking in the middle

Three tears are shed

Three boxes fall the floor, crumbling into the twisted air

Six black boxes scream, and shriek in laughter 

One... One She, He and They all whisper their souls into the atmosphere

All that is celestial shivers and sways like the willow on Sunday

Five black boxes melt into concept, dripping like hot tar onto the shadow surfaces below

A thousand realms fold in, in cold and in soft

A magic is birthed, a truth gently disfigured

One black box remains, dancing in myth 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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