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

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