I must remind
that I do matter.

my seeming unfree mind,
chains my very
deepest power
on some high shelf,

ticks its well worn tocks
that drum right through
the creaky chimes
of my inner antique clocks. . .

And though
quite oftentimes,
I am enamored
with the tragedy
and beauty
of the tortured prisoner
that shakes her bars
and cries
with desperate clamors,

it is high time,
I found my voice,
and dropped the stutters,
and the stammers,

and picked the broken pieces up,
silenced all
that evil
inner chatter,
and got my act together.

push might never
come to shove–
not ever–

so I will need
to grow myself
a crop of love
well rooted,
with strong stems
and other stuff,

and nourish it
until the day
it gets so lush,

that it will feed
all of the world
in one joyful,
peaceful hush–

or do something
even better.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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