I see the cart proceed the horse
the rote of role dictating all
with scant room to express
identity born outside the path
asking for a remedy
what came before is not the dream
instead I look beyond to see
what lays beyond the ramparts rent.

Don’t mind the walls tumbling down
they served a purpose that’s now gone
in the rubble a flower grows
retrieving beauty from turmoil
the straight and narrow was their goal
those constructions of family
society and the good of all
manacles bound against my soul.

I’ve only wrecked my precious world
ruin is a word too harsh
‘realized’ is appropo
for the outcome I’ll now embrace
all the stones will be retrieved
then put in rows that fit the plan
of a life that’s been transformed
to echo maps found within.

You’re left with realms of your own
though I may hint a larger scope
perhaps you’ll sense resonance
so be this gift of rapport
the cart may lead the sad horse
this is the way before we bloom
don’t fear exchange as the balm
you’ll find yourself outside of rote.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180428.