Primordial Orbits (Arrival)

We land on new shores. Night is in our heads.
The call to march will come but for nowwe hear nothing, even though noise surrounds us. 
We are swelling with the tide. Sweating a historythat refuses to leave us. 
Night and day beg us stay and grow. Becomestrong. Forge something into being, a conglomerateof selves wading through waves.

WordFest Anthology 2019
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