:::if you are reading this:::

what are my possessions?
am i so vain, so ignorant, do i own this light that i see with?
is this silver ring, a child of time and earths womb...is this mine?
the cheek that blushes, pressed to earth silently whispers it's return.
one man will eat with his hands and another with gold,
one drinks from cupped hands and another from glass...
which is more worthy of death?
to whom will death become?
Ah! the finest death for you my lord!

i cry, love, and even the tears i cannot claim.
i drink her water, i eat what is alive, what feeds upon us...
and i am granted a tear, and a step forward, and doubt, a watery dream.
after some time, all of your trinkets gone...
and a generation passes by,
then another,
and you are forgotten...
and your trinkets are in a strangers drawer...
but you held them ever so tightly...

what are my possessions?
i would like for you to have them.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::