A cloud drifts by as we lie on the grass in sandals,
But clouds no longer have any meaning for me,
Shapes and shadows make small fodder for laughter;
But now the sun shines through them
The brushing breeze floats over us,
Looking lazy at the blue expanse above,
It stretches on forever; its space, our empty future,
Waiting for us to fill it with what we will;
With whatever we will
Dark clouds may sometimes dim the sky
With a passing pall of permeating grey,
But now, this new, retains its azure hue
Brightened by the sun you wear
so softly with your eyes
“Man was matter, that was Snowden’s secret. Drop him out a window and he’ll fall. Set fire to him and he’ll burn. Bury him and he’ll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage.” Joseph Heller – Catch 22
Snowden’s secret haunts him
Lurking low and languid wraps around him
A matter of man gushing forth his
Protected, tangible essence
Snowden’s secret lays bare before him
Spilling soft and sanguine there beneath him
When all that we see is all that there is
We are blind
Snowden’s secret, safe from the cold around him
Erected irrepressible shines before him
A man may cut and bleed and bruise and break
Yet, he is more
Snowden’s secret, whispered soft around him
Showing shallow surface we perceive him
A bone machine of clinking clanging parts
He is more
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