Last night a young poet’s voice tore so deep within that it ripped my soul apart.....
Her words of birds and cages and gravity and what human does to human brought me back to wind swept hills where the was sky blue enough to drown in and vast enough to blanket all corners of the earth where I, as a boy, worked and wandered wandered through words words spoken in telling and words raged in rage
As I pulled the implements of grain through the soil I learned to think the dust I raised drifted across the land bringing with it my thoughts passed horizons, passed the hills to distant lands torn by the pains of love, of war, of loss and of what human does to human
His rage was the desperation of a soul shredded by war by what human does to human he was caged between what he had seen and that he should still posses some hope between witnessing the destruction of a world and believing in a world
But deep within him I had always heard a voice a voice buried deep beneath his rage a voice..... he could no longer hear but I could always hear “no matter how long I am caged no matter how long the gravity of ignorance and hate, the gravity of hubris and destruction binds and holds down my soul, I was alway meant to fly, we were all....meant to fly....”
I published this eight years ago. I thought I would revisit it again.
They say they savor my poetic rhymes They say "bars!" But plenty people 've got more bars than mine
My innocent cousin's upstate doing time My neighbor's niece, pobrecita sleeps In a cage for kids; She's only nine My great grandma's in the hood, first floor Bars blanketing her windows and her doors Peep! plenty people've got more bars than mine Meanwhile our nation's on its ninth bottle Building more bars, so we will ALL drown our sorrows 'Cause of colorful communities countrywide, whispering:
"Hush Baby, don't you cry; Say 'yes, Sir,' and comply." "I have a dream-if-I Simply show 'em how we sing-ify, Sacrifice, and speechify, Maybe they'll realize..."
We can't break the bars trapping our cries In these cells alive Until they break the bigoted bars trapping their minds In those braincells of lies!
Hold it! Wait while I rewind Imma Erase and Retrace My rhyme's third line: I say plenty people've got more bars than minds! Plus many "*****" minds mastermind more bars than mine!
Which is why... My innocent cousin's upstate doing time My neighbor's niece, pobrecita sleeps In a cage for kids, she's only nine My great grandma's in the hood, first floor Bars blanketing her windows and her doors
In a dream, I see the raven fly into the night; his dark song beckoning from his beak. Shiny black wings promise flight, but to where?
I watch as the pair of doves bellow their songs of love and with a rush of angels wings fly heavenward.
I hear the bluebirds and sparrows little hum of hope fade softly into the afternoon sun, and I wonder, what does it all mean?
Then I see them, and many other kinds of birds, with beautiful bright colors, Parakeets and parrots, eagles and herons...even a dodo and they are all rotting in cages. Some of the cages are open, others are closed, but all the birds are lying on their sides, sad dead eyes, staring blankly, finished and flightless. and I get it.
How strange a tide… apathetic to its core. Novichok in the system — we’ve already hit the floor. Not without warning for the interested few. Sure, indigo on the spectrum, but black in our view. Our prophets are wary, lamenting for the lot. The glass thicker than ever: they’re forced to watch them rot. Let’s not dilute it over biscuits and tea. We’re addicted to passion; it drains both you and me. Quit cold turkey; we’ll wither and die within the week. We blew past the sabbath; so muddle on and be meek. Telephone the skies, but the network is full: We put off the harvest — our calls all but null. “Don’t think just breathe and wait for the pull of the plug.” There’s a way, truth, and life; but deafness is the most popular drug. Our water is muddy; the dolls’ overjoyed. Reject all the falsehoods; their eyes shimmer from the void. I’m here to remind you there’s more than you think. Dead end paths are common; they want you to sink. Exist behind ego and you’ll miss the horizon. Perspective’s a gift if you’re looking to wisen. Races aren’t games for an aspiring professional. Throw out your excuses you don’t need a confessional. There’s anguish in the conviction; you’ll be forced to commit. But sleep-walking is pervasive; few actually submit.