On Both Sides of the Sliding Door
A poem
On the other side of the sliding door
Dwells a kindred soul
The words are our home
A warm hut is the H
A tall tower is the T
We climb the tower and wave
To the waves between us
They carry us to and fro
The eyes have not seen
The ears have not heard
But the spirits recognized
Millions of years away
The words stitch us as we stitch them
Into the light, they birth us as we birth them
We brush against nebulae
And catch fire from supernovae
The colors, blue, red, and green
Were seen, galaxies in between
The rhythms, the drum, flute, and lute
Were heard, where sound cannot breathe
Poetry is our mother tongue
Some days we stumble and stutter
But one caress from a mother is all it takes
She carries us on her back and teaches us
The secrets of the world, she whispers to us
Why the sky is blue, why it snows
Why we walk and why we don’t fly
We learn how to walk again
Until we learn how to fly
We find wings in the V, in the X,
On a good day, we find them in the K
We show the world as we see it
We do not fear beauty anymore
Than we fear the doom
We call ourselves The Travelers
We have seen the dawning of the earth
We have seen the birth of the stars
We have seen the splendor of their death
On both sides of the sliding door
We call ourselves kindred spirits
Thank Your For Reading 🌼
