My Own Zion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Wrote this after thinking of the last staza on the car ride home. It was almost midnight and I thought the question and was like "Wow! I know what to do with that" so I wrote this poem about the place of solace everyone has either physically mentally or spiritually.

Submitted: July 03, 2008

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Submitted: July 03, 2008

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My own Zion,
waiting for a presence, inert upon the highest hill.
A beacon of light drawing me in.
I orbit round its gravity.
I spiral deep to its density.
A beacon of light, a spire on the rocks,
Keeps me from crashing into the cliffs.
The rocky cliffs, with the sirens calling
Pull at my soul,
An insatiable need to sleep,
To let myself ex(im)plode.
I was ready once.
 
We are hungry for the place,
Static now and static forever,
Holding hands with sky and
Hovering still in the smothering mist,
Our own Zion.
 
It will wait, I say.
For the time when we are ready.
But…
 
Still we wonder—
Will we make it home,
before tomorrow becomes
today?


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