There’s
life fading, to blend two cultures, where both are suffering; as not to omit
others, where America is rooted, in some sort of dichotomy. We find for
sorrows, this embedded agony, fighting to right a series of wrongs; where swans
are watching, and sons are drawing, as a form of escape; to have for
parachutes, a reason to fly, in a world so cautious with love; as affected by
mothers, this Caucasian woman, as striving—afraid of mirrors. We pardon so
much, as partial to generations, as to pride our cultures; where death is a
given, and hell is a factor, and heaven breaks our revelation; to have for
scars, this Cajun agenda, as rooted in Asia; to know for whiteness, the best of
this culture, as to arrive at this balance; where two may mingle, at equal to
gods, to address this written Word. There’s a heart-drop, where connection
dwells, to see it as Spirit; this deep enchant, as mystic in waves, to
cross-pollinate. It mustn’t be life—to ask of souls, a conscience for humanity;
wherewith, are dictums, to embrace each culture, as conscious of this struggle;
where home is love, as a world is cold, as treated to turmoil; but there’s a
swan, dwelling in tensions, as striving for perfection; where such is
dangerous, as this needed tool, but life is catered towards surrendering; of
course, with works, for nothing is
free, as to understand our dynamics; to gesture with ease, as found in circles,
to have possessed a love for cultures; that grand diversity, that chilling
reality, that love upon Mexican soil; as knowing embrace, this sheer affect, as
rooted in appreciation; to die with vengeance, as to soon resurrect, a product
of two worlds; so fraught us not, for classifying life, where most is
Eurocentric; so more to reality, as this fretted love, to appreciate nuances;
as caved in madness, to build for strengths, a world where pigment is
agitation. It kills a soul, as noted for color, as opposed to deepness;
whereat, are bars, to depreciate life, where love hovers as sky-born; so fault
our souls, for engaging sorrows, where love would punish a nation—this breath
of tears, these scars of life, this ignorance resounding deeply; as this was
us, fully for thrills, unaware of a gorgeous swan.
