Sometimes there is a voice inside me
echoing in stillness
waiting and growing
but it never finds the air
And the spaces between the echoes
fill with ghosts and spectres of my own design
memories long twisted
thoughts still tethered
In my youth it raged and raged
against the dying of the perception of light
drowning beneath my temporary surface
but as it came up to the air it evaporated
no substance
nothing concrete
and nothing seems to be left
of the passions that once overflowed
Just like the footsteps in warming morning sand
feet pressed deep
a stirring within my soul threatens
to break free again
It doesn’t ever seem to be able to
and so my bird never sings
because those songs are to be timeless
and glide upon the open seas
My feet groan with the desire to return
there
a picturesque reminder of where
simplicity once created was
within who I am
So often my mental path takes me
through paces
a trek along places of rote memory
Tastes of salt
scents of wrapped up yesterday
A low groan begs to hum
yearns to roar
One last yawp against those familiar
breezes blowing
winds soothing
and feel the cracking within
and the rusted pieces of what is left
of me falling
dropping like crusted sin
to the water’s edge
Open throated expressions loosed
desperate hoping to once more
be caught up
enraptured
A divine harmonious dream
a swan song allowing me
the grace to be consumed
one more time
and accept the gasp and hiss
to be my final confession
offered in obedience
with joyous release
2:50 pm
17 August 2011
