Mellifluous Murmurs

Unsteady

The lost boys, 

even of those in Sudan,

they are hungry–

they seek shelter,

they are looking for themselves.

Roses,

I twirl my finger around the delicate core of its petals,

it screams a sermon

it makes me aware of fire,

from that,

I can seize a photograph;

it details a painting

it shows me a picture–

this English rose can capture the alcohol of rum

it can love behind its seas,

yoddle out sirens,

it can sober a soul.

It can take back all of its runaways–

it can hide us from our weak hearts.

What keeps us sober can keep us free

and put together a wonderland,

just for us.

Our bodies create a wonderland,

our souls create oceans

because all the world's a stage,

and we are unsteady actors in the large act,

we're just dancing on rooftops, 

we're creating every phase of life,

by just living.

We're just doing it now

 and remembering it later.

We are numb and gone, gone, gone

we're stolen, unsteady secrets

only hidden

by our almighty Creator.

We're unsteady

but we're here.

We're unsteady,

but we conquered.

In the end, 

we're all in the front row

of our own movie,

yet our favorite show–

capturing memories that made us bleed red

and cry none;

we're unsteady,

but we're human.

We're unsteady, but we're certain.