Conversations with my brother. (On the eve of).

And so,

the storm

came

for

you.

Bent,

from the spirit

down

all the way to your

fears.

You

stood,

as wave after wave

sucked the air

from your

lungs.

A new

birth;

in

reverse.

But,

I have come to

plant

seeds

in that

diagnosis.

Hope.

Tender, fragile, indissoluble

hope.

Is a

giver

of

life,

if you will tend it well.

And,

there is something

that they have not

told you,

but I want to mark

your soul with these

words.

There are many ways to

live,

and there are many ways to

die.

And we have

seen

that it is

(im)possible

to spend years

with a beating heart

in a dead body.

And,

bitterness

will curdle

your spirit,

if you tend it well

You,

can

choose

life.

Live,

every,

single,

moment

unwrapping the

gift

of time.

And,

in this

beautiful rebellion

you will

become.

Alive.

— On the eve of.

©Liezel Graham. 2018.

4 thoughts on “Conversations with my brother. (On the eve of).

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