It is not alive in the violence babe
it is not spun out of plastic packages
or inside the chamber of burnt-honey bottles
it isn't in the dope eyes of a molly warmed soul
or three sets of naked limbs
entwined.

It is in the repetition of morning,
in the ancient strength of rising again
and continuing forward bravely
the holy burden of man.

It is in shouldering the necessary mission of God.

Its in you growing up and meaning well
but never finding the time

It's the poignant moment as
you think you may hear
a song that once played over our Carolina
season.

One day we'll meet in heaven as strangers

I'll nod and
you'll smile
and the sun will rise
to vanquish
the agony of
night.