Reid@YWP

My day is done, so I sit here,

Under the stars, twinkling gleefully down at me

Still, the hot summer day lingers like a sticky residue on my skin

spring is coming-

the earth awakes from her death-sleep,
melting away the frozen blanket over her body.

soft tears often fall-

tears for the lives lost, for the new lives given.

Everyone carries a little bag full of marbles,

But I didn’t get one.

I have to carry them myself,

And I managed to,

until I realized something,

This is hard to do.

Most people don’t notice

I was born a Wednesday’s Child of Woe.

Born the year of nothing-

Before the End-Of-All.

Born 11:52 am, November 21, 2007.

what to do when everything that makes us human-

art, music, creation-

is copied, stolen, created by non-human, non-living ai

what will we do?

when our very expression is being taken away from us

slipping out of eyesight

through windows

and out back doors

in the dark of night

with only the stars as witnesses.

slipping through thick forests

carrying sweet-smelling woven baskets