Over the hill, the priest weeps.
Under the bridge, the foreman dies.
At the station, the lover leaves.
The millions march into mace.
The cameras whirl into dizzy aim.
The bloody stains cake and dry.
You can hear the blood beat.
You can feel the voices cry.
You can watch the horses cringe.
The sidelines are elegant.
The frontlines are shifting.
The storylines are corrupted.
The sparrow tweets a symbol
And a Call is Answered.
The Answer drops into the ears
of the mad crowd where it
resonates, fades and dies.
A child is born into a favela,
plays under the guava tree
and learns to listen to the breeze.
I went to Wikipedia tonight to look up Steve Jobs’ birthday to write this post.
I got to the word “was” and cried.
That’s all I can write. It’s all I need to write.
Thank you, Steven Paul Jobs.
There are people in and around your world who will teach you,
who will defeat you,
who will pick on you, betray you,
lock you up in dark places, slander you…
and love you.
It doesn’t matter if any of this is intended or random.
What matters is your willingness to learn
when to submit, when to cut loose
and when to look up, rise and assert your presence here.
The loneliness you feel is a hurting gift, a nudge
that says “you belong here, among the others”,
that you are co-writing this world’s enigmatic plot.
It’s a reminder that love is just over your shoulder.
You don’t need to look back.
Simply trust the dark before you.
It’s not upon the length nor roughness of your troubles
that you have to expend and muster all of your might.
No, it’s those last slivers of them,
when the straining edges seem impossible to connect,
those thrashing moments when you – and only you –
get to be the many heroes of your short, but profound, story.