My Freedom on Wings

<<Read here>> (click here to hear me read it)

I used to sing out loud, waiting for you to hear, 
I used to write sweet words, to draw you near,
I sang a song that only your soul should have heard,
Even so, I was lost in myself, gravely self-interred.

It took me time to push the daisies from this earthy burrow,
Rising stiffly, just under the surface, from six feet below, 
I stretch and groan, a song to salute the sun and skies,
Slowly opening long-closed and sight-forgotten eyes,

The world is new and full of rich abstract colour, 
Awoken from a deep slumber, where senses were duller,
Apprehension and anxiety that once burbled steadily,
Dissipates as my mind eases to the calm of the slow sea,

Infinity may not be compromised from the mortal abode,
Endlessness consumed as digesting time slowed, 
You delicious curls rivalled the Odysseus’s godlike brow, 
And you snarled and hissed, face resting in scowl,

The tears that flowed from your eyes were laced with hate,
For a many an age, I deluded myself to lust after fate,
When we danced, my hand met your hand, your hand on my waist,
Always expecting, always demanding my smile remained chaste, 

The years past us by, dust settling like snow on those curls,
Tears dropped from my eyes, more precious than pearls,
You pushed me and pulled me, I was a doll on a string, 
But I’ve finally grown them, my freedom on wings,

In, I breathe, Out, I breathe. Snow melts at my pyre, 
Spring suspires life from the putrid, festering mire,
Towards the depths, I feel my body contract and inflate,
This is the choice of a lifetime—a pearl or fiery gate.

I am free now, after all of this time; 
Saddled to lyric and many a rhyme;
I bellow the fires that alight from within,
And cradle the pearls as I begin again. 

Aural Laurel

Listen to me <<here>> (read aloud xx )

Listen to me in the dark; watch our souls eclipse,
Listen to me in the small of your back, near the hips,
Watch me as I dance with the stars, graceful and long,
Watch me as I sing to the heavens, a working song.

Footsteps that echo as the stars suddenly realign,
Good memories forgotten, bad ones forever enshrined,
The drive towards death preserves our written word,
Marring those cherished days in ink as we record,

Defined to a point that absconds meaning from truth,
Wringing out words and life for all they are worth,
Inventing new words to fill the gaps with new noise,
Cleverly wincing as I give up my narrative choice,

Often I’ve loved; but little I’ve gained,
Mimetically repeating the chorus and singing refrained,
They stand alongside this stage of decided upheaval,
Telling you it has been a play of woe and much evil,

Cathartic removal, a single tear falls from your eye,
Mocking the emotion you so tenderly do yourself deny,
Each tear is caught and saved for the end,
’Til the last heart we mend,
Saved by the playwright who charmingly penned

Such tragic delights which are sung with avid disgust,
Yet, so willingly we believe and wholeheartedly trust
In the ending that will deliver a smile or moral,
So we can dress our poet with a lettered laurel.