Words Georgia Lawrie
I am full of still air and explosive skies,
of calmness and uncontrollable panic.
I burn with purpose,
and then I burn into the ground,
I am full of wonder about other beings,
and how they feel when they wander the wilderness.
Do they understand it as part of the human process?
Or do they understand the endless isolation,
I am full of all the futures to be written,
where every star has already been burnt,
and every sunset has already sailed the lonely way of the sky.
Threading amongst the timeless secrets—
never ours to know,
nor keep protected.
I am full of the past, etched like the valley.
Snaking inside of me with every tense punch of history.
My movements match the voices in my head,
the memory pulling the strings of my muscles—
I am full of curiosity about the way the world moves.
When everything is sinking inward,
do other people throw off the quilt and move forward?
Witness to the darkness but not enveloped—
I am full of hope, that tomorrow will make sense.
Not the stories of the minerals beneath me,
but the magpies and how they holler from the gums,
and the feel of the red dirt and the crackle of stormy skies.
That new light,
Born from the days that slipped away.