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in the spirit of comradery

may our fists forever

pound   #katyamills

july 29

our energy burning hot 

guarded close to the heart 

we talked until our tears 

dried. the monsters by candlelight

walking the walls pushed 

round by the wind

in a hopeless place we 

made a pact sincere and fought 

like hell   #katyamills

response to an image

Eyes opened ten at a time at the temple. Bodies became same color as the sky, on their way to new freedoms of mind. Others would turn the same color when suffocated. The shades were hardly discernable in the sun. Same eyes might return to sameness, soon after they found themselves on the other side of the arch between the walls around the temple. Life in the village would not open like eyes. Hope was in harvest, not in the work. But those who made it to the temple had curious minds and wanted more than their lot. They would return through the arch frequently, for each had offered a stone from their home into it's design. The god dressed in gold awaited them inside, and promised an easy vitality. Some would mistake it for fertility, in copycat poses. Brotherhood came out of the experience. Arms raised above the head, fingers clasped symbolically, just so. There might be danger in personal intepretation. But no more or less danger than personal interpretation of anything other than scripture. Vitality and comradery among men was something to fear, and would make the cities which lately overshadowed the village.