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....”

Break free

Why am I dead?

There goes some tears

Funeral to be had
inside my head.

Am I not me at all?

Give me the key

Open the door

Who's in here?

Tell me more.

Break ****.

Watch it burn.

Cry on ashes
in an urn.

I'm dead inside
and mourning
my soul.

Plug me up

and

Let me go.

Unzip my body.

and

split my brain.

I hate it here.

All existence

is pain.

Just take a minute before you fall into it,
you should be risking, so take it
there’s nothing to lose
deeper and deeper
feel in your lungs
going and growing
you’re like an infinite rage