Zion

The same sky under chains and master’s meal

Gazing memorized by the drift under the horizon calling cattle home from the field

A promise of sweet chariot reaching towards the Big Dipper. One day escaping the office rat race bloodied by the whip

Twitching and fidget to test my legs on the pristine array of mental escape in nature

Sunday gospel poking holes in the grace of dropping to dust bruising the crop and dip damping the market.

Shadows of muddling past the veil of false vision one that only sees survival. Fear the only weapon to lock in a life of convenience.

Your crown has been paid. No color. No distinction. All shamed in DNA made of U.S world consequence in a spot above the mountain top where I dry my tears.

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