The Indomitable

His mind is not a clock, but a seismograph,

Recording tremors that no football makes.

He sketches proofs upon a frosted glass,

Where truth is fractured, and the logic breaks.

He holds a microscope to common grace,

Dissecting kindness down to pure intent,

He reckons the secret structure of a face,

But cannot build the house where he’d be sent.

A sun that burns too bright, his inner core,

Casting shadows where the others stand.

They see the stutter in the metaphor,

The trembling blueprint held within his hand.

They read the surface tension of his pause,

The slight misalignment of his steady gaze,

They choose the comfort of their simple laws,

And dim the current of his brilliant haze.

He measures gravity, not by the fall, but by sheer, unyielding pull of worth.

He won’t chase warmth beyond the garden wall, nor harvest pity from the frozen earth.

He is a lonely supernova, vast and bright, deserving of the light that others share,

But waits for one to navigate the night, and simply see the universe is there.

 

Paper Ghost

 For the Immigrant, for I am one too.

I crossed a border of foam and breath,
The storm broke open, the gale screamed death.
My name got lost in the pull of the tide,
Now I’m a rumor the waves can’t hide.

I tie my dreams to rusted rails,
Grow hope in the cracks of failing sails.
But every sunrise feels worn thin,
Every knock could let The Cold roll in.

I’m a paper ghost in a flesh-and-bone world,
Invisible ink where the flag’s unfurled.
I bleed in languages they won’t translate,
Living proof that love can’t wait.
They call me alien, call me crime,
and it seems as if I  ran out of time.

I crossed a border made of breath and blood,
The night tore open, the stars drew mud.
My name got lost in the teeth of the wind,
Now I’m a rumor where my life has been.

I plant my hands in stolen soil,
Grow dreams that the law can’t spoil.
But every sunrise feels like sin,
Every knock could let The Cold come in.

I’m a paper ghost in a flesh-and-bone world,
Invisible ink where the flag’s unfurled.
I bleed in languages they won’t translate,
Living proof that love can’t wait.
They call me alien, call me crime,
and it seems as if I  ran out of time.

I build your homes, I pave your streets,
Feed your children what mine can’t eat.
Sign no name, leave no trace,
But every wall still knows my face.

They say “get in line” but where’s the door?
When you’re born with less, and they ask for more.
Freedom’s price is paper-thin,
And I was born without that Skin.

I’m a paper ghost in a flesh-and-bone world,
Invisible ink where the flag’s unfurled.
I bleed in languages they won’t translate,
Living proof that love can’t wait.
They call me alien, call me crime,
But their words won’t break my mind,

My mother prays to saints of stone,
I pray for Wi-Fi, not to feel alone.
My son speaks English like a king,
And I can’t read the notes that he brings.

They tell him, “You belong right here,”
While I hide my name, my race, and fight my fear.
He dreams in color; I dream in code,
One road goes forward, another a back road.

I’m a paper ghost in a flesh-and-bone world,
A shadow where your dreams are hurled.
Tattooed by borders, burned by night,
Still reaching for the morning light.
You call me stranger, and maybe that’s true,
But I’m still human, just like you.