I held my breath in from the miasma
Leaning on a dried-out shovel
Sweat slalomed down my gaunt face
Gleaming in the summer Sun
I looked at the cyclists passing by
The birds flying overhead, the horses grazing
I envied their luxury
Stranded on an island of dirt
I grieved my labor
And conceded to the incessant noise
Of flies and insects swarming my body
That Which Is Safe
That Which Is Safe
Miasma
But a Sound
But a Sound
We Build Our Castles In the Air
We Build Our Castles In the Air
Impulses
Understanding Healing
Understanding Healing
A Thousand Words
The Hand That Rests On My Shoulder
The Hand That Rests On My Shoulder
Wounded
One Day We Will No Longer Hurt
Insurmountable
If You Are Reading This
If You Are Reading This
I Am Unafraid
A Thousand Words