I.
listen to it...incessantly begging...
asking, struggling, and pulling a refrain
that grates on the nerves. ears usually
deaf to the primal growl; my guilty hands
to blame for opening the door. what door?
portals to the never-fulfilled, bottomless
pit of lust. citizen of Nod, a real
wanderer praying for redemption's touch.
II.
waited near a setting sun. old woman
shuffling down Broad St. purse full of scorched
nostalgia; stockings torn. her air, one of
peace. ...was difficult waiting for me to
scrape off last evenings' fear. i hear her old
age-darkened voice peeling back pain, taking
the dirt of insecurities; telling
me to live, to boldly go, get and grow!
III.
I used to dream monochromatic. I
used to walk carrying a pocket-full
of un-jaded freedom. Freedom not grown
in the palm of hardship, cultivated
out of pain...i used to approach the sun,
my blatant blackness loud and un-contained.
then I was reckless and fresh...times before
I grew up; introduced to this REAL life.
©2011 Wordchestral Publishing
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