11/10/13

Before


The days before I counted money 
and stained my fingers green,
The nights I lived on tea with honey,
Not yet wondering what life could be.


My feet and head were bare.
My hands calloused and red.
As the wind flew round and round my cabin door
Searching for it's place beside me in my bed.


Now, I sit in halls of marble,
Staring at the chandeliers,
They glisten and tinkle so exquisite,
A soldier of survival after all the years.


And I ask myself, what would I like to be,
A cut and polished piece of crystal
hanging in the light,
Or, a dark and fleeting piece of wind 
that flies free, into the wild night.


The days before I counted money
and stained my fingers green,
I didn't yet know if I was loud or funny,
Or all the places I would see.




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