With Beckoning Fires!

why is it...
yesterday i walked on water,
today i tripped crossing the room!
you are only as distant
as the prayers of
semen stained thighs...
i am only as near
as the spider sleeping
in the hollow of your neck!
god yawns.... people get old,
sputter, and die...
but the voices remain,
with beckoning fires!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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