That was the title, still is in fact, of a poem I wrote when I was 23. I look back on the words, and they seem eerily prophetic to me, some ten years later, especially after having read most of The Secret Life of Plants.
Let The Rising Begin
Ideals cannot be measured
Dreams cannot be contained
A spark isn’t lonely
On the surface of the sun
Midnight moon can’t hold me down
Let the rising begin
I’ve walked these streets
Claiming each new step
Small victories
The greater war
Knows no battlefield
History is made
Not in the fields but in the heart
Lies…the greatest bloodshed
Casualties on every hand
Let the rising begin
City lights in my window
Cold wind at my feet
This is how the west was won
One heartbeat, one voice
Living for one hope, one dream
One nation still in mourning
Let the rising begin
Now, it doesn't all fit, but the upper portion certainly does!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
beautiful poem Michelle! That book gave me a whole new perspective on life, I recommend it to everyone!
ReplyDelete