The Free We

We are the Forgotten

Poem’s children.

We drink ground morphemes distilled in alkaline water,

gurgling syntaxes pooling in our saliva.

Primordial stardust

coalesces into the hornets

that swarm and rage in our small intestines.

That sting is our fuel.

Fierce lions

molded from our ancestral scar dust

hang by their claws from our throats.

Those amulets are our power.

Fools.

You can’t tear us to pieces.

We are the very act of tearing.

You can’t describe us with your words.

We are the gaps between each syllable,

portals to beyond the intelligible.

Try to grasp us

and We will slip into what you call the Ether

but what We know is Reality.

We are the Forgotten

Poem’s children.

And We pity you.

All of you.

You are all burdened with misguided desire

to be the Remembered.