When searching for the lost
- Locked due to inactivity on Feb 16, '17 3:54am
Thread Topic: When searching for the lost
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One
We are vessels
We are so much less important
In the things inside of us
We are circuit boards
Swallowing the electricity
Of life
Upon birth
It wheels through us
For all of our days
It creates every moment
The pulse of a story
The soft thumbs of labor
And love
In our last moment
It will come rushing
From our chests
And will be given back to the wind
When we die
We go everywhere
Two
Newton said
Energy is neither created
Nor destroyed
In the hallways of my middle school
I can still hear my friend Stephen
Singing his favorite song
In the gymnasium
I can still hear
The way he dribbleed that basketball
Like it was a mallet
And the earth was a xylophone
With an ear to the Atlantic
I can hear
The Titanic's band
Playing her to sleep
Music
Wind
Music
Wind
If you listen to the wind
You can hear a thousand years
Of music
And you're not listening hard enough
Three
The day my grandfather passed away
There was the strongest wind
I could feel his gentle hands
Blowing away from me
I knew then
They were off to find someone
Who needed them more than I did
On average
1.8 people on earth
Die every second
There is always a gust of wind somewhere
Four
The day Stephen was murdered
Everything that made us love him
Rushed from his knife wounds
As though his chest were an auditorium
His life an audience
Leaving in single file
Watering the earth for days
And night
Every once of him has been
Wrapping around this world
In a windstorm
I have been looking for him
For nine years
Five
Our bodies are nothing more
Than hosts to a collection
Of brilliant things
When someone dies
I do not weep over
Polaroids or belongings
I begin to look
For the lightning
That has left them
I feel out the strongest breeze
And take off running
Six
After nine years
I found Stephen
I passed a basketball court in Boston
The point guard dribbled
Like he had a stadium roaring in his palms
Wilt Chamberlain pumping in his feet
His hands flashing like x-rays
A cross-over
A cross-over
A wrap-around
Rewinding
Turn-tables
Cracking open
Camera-men turn flash bulbs
To fireworks
Seven games
And he never missed a shot
His hands were luminous
Pulsing
Pulsing
When I asked him
How long you've been playing
He said
Nine years
Seven
The theory of six degrees of separation
Was never meant to see
How many people we could find
It was a set of directions
For how to find
The people we have lost
I found your voice
Stephen
Found it in a young boy
In Michigan
Who was always singing
His lungs flapping
Like sails
I found your smile
In Australia
A young girls teeth
Shining like the opera house in your neck
I found your one true love
Come to life on the asphalt of Boston
Eight
We are not created
Or destroyed
We are constantly transferred
Shifted and renewed
Everything we are
Is given to us
Death does not come
When a body is too exhausted to live
Death comes
Because the brilliance inside of us
Can only be contained for so long
We do not die
We pass on
Pass on the life
Burning through our throats
When you leave me
I will not cry for you
I will run into the strongest wind I can find
And welcome you home
Pass On by Michael Lee
god i f---ing love this poem so much
and i'm hardcore procrastinating on my work
this essay is due tomorrow at 11:59 pm wow
but yeah
guys love me -
Why did I read all of that? Now I'm sad :'c it's so beautiful!
-
it's an amazing poem. one of my favorites honestly haha
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