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No Transgressions
(starve the ego of its rights)
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The light that leaves,
that feeds the light that
leaves, speaks of scars
and childhood’s sanctity,
has grown weary in its search
for a source to continue brightly,
has slept out the potent night
and screams indecently for intimate
disclosure. The dance that strips
the tissue from the sinews, signals for the game
to end but does not end its rhythm or
burning – explosive flourishing – no facts
but a faucet drip drip curse to
hold down a half-a-dozen personalities
perched on your throne. The light, the light –
Who will win? The dance, the dance,
rattle and leak your soul into a theatrical
achievement – stand high in an age of distraction
and violence, stand rooted in the light,
matter most when you are dancing, even if
a malignant army invades
and prevails.
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Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
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Frist published in “GloMag” October 2016
https://www.joomag.com/magazine/mag/0984187001476934077?feature=archive
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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
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Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.