Regional Dialects

Do not fear

Was I brave?

Lights drift from the moss, the dirt, the sunsets on the asphalts that lead us home.

Common sense eclipses the heart forward, and upward is the call of this day.

Where there is reassurance existence extends beyond the fleeted breath we have.

Colder conversations rise from the graves that surround.

Lost & Found courage of the misfired brigades of emotional overflow displaced through age.

Fold diaries of the heart unearth and dim their muted apologies where words ferment, and float in it's time.

Bring the whole family here to gaze upon the ascent, the endings that we crave like vampires in the attic waiting for dawn.

The bully traps that line the street, and the rows of headstones dissolve 

Ruined plans drift downhill to be forsaken, and cleansed in the faces of these.

Tribulators cut down to bended knees as the least, and greatest among them dry out, and disintegrate in the literal as they're carried to the end of all family ties.

Blood oaths crave their entitled thrills exhaled from the innocence that they kill linking the knife marks to romance they soothe their concaveness and abysmal hearts selling their souls for scenic grave sites.

The fullness ruptures as we rise from the water exhales, bellows through cracks from bones, and roots groan as the skin sheds in waves of glistening newness as ripeness colors the cheek bones.

The creature comforts flee as the new air expunges the stale black night.

Our one bad day that lasted the last 20 years crests as the strong wash out to sea, their paper lanterns of memorials sink back into the quakes and quivers of inner wounds which they came.

Their victory complete as the ascent allows their hums, pleads, and screams turn to trumpets that sing our name. 

Flutes, and strings that carry our soul to pleasant aromas as the moss, and earth falls from our left, and then from our right. Karmatic debts of the lowlands below meet our friends as they absolved, and dissolved into the dead of night.

Golden beams of soft beaming light surround as our heads resolve revealed in the clouds as the air tastes as good as the first time.

Hands raised in a great cloud of witnesses.

Fixing the rise.

Fearing not.

Am I brave?