I’ve spent years mulling over this poem.

I feel that I finally got it right.  Questions on the back of a comment if you don’t get the symbolism in the first two verses and would like to know what it means…..

Tribe

First the mirror,
then blood.

The heart beats stronger
than the tree grows
on the land if there are few of you,
yet the skin is more tactile
than the cloth;
the tongue
louder than the book, which is
more vocal than the anvil.

We run ourselves ragged
in the circles in which
we think we move,
tripping over ankle-height
revolving cogs
intersecting and grinding,
snarling with different grooves
forcing us to question
our motives,
your reasons,
everyone’s voices
until we are dizzy with
the mesmer of conficts.

We cry out
‘where is our tribe?’
But the tears on the mirror
obscure our true selves,
our image
and everything behind it,
fizzling into a formless haze,
blinding us so we no longer see
we should be
we are
we cannot continue unless
we become one.

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