The Ruins Of Our Inhumanity Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

IAM
a dust of
your dreams.
In your trembling hot
palms, you see the lines of
our, commonality. Humanity
expressed genetically, gathered
from, life's fragments, in one tuned
symphony; as time spins out of tone.
Within this song is history, is mystery
is a ‘telling' of truth and misery, of life
and, of your destiny… and as the ground
gives up the dead; reverently, this universe
kisses each fallen leaf, from each dying tree.
And the brightest of moons from a faraway star
weeps its light upon you and upon me; as we stand
silently gazing into eternity. The wounds of our reality
once were bleeding our humility; heal in a profoundly
humbling miracle, expressing that hope, which will
peel away soon; the ruins of our inhumanity…