this is you,
daily on my heels,
I’ve run from you a thousands times, fearing you,
you’ve been chasing me,
to make peace with me,
to teach me that you are the beginning of my own personal free.
“Here, a ray from the sun, his cape.”
afflicted by sorrow,
lured in by madness,
rhythms of deepening tones.
Beneath his feet the earth groans.
beyond figures of stone,
the tree bows to greet him, flowers offer fragrances of peace.
The sun offers from its ray, a cape,
he is a super hero,
melodies awaken nature, birds sway to lyrical pulses, and offer choruses the world cannot hear.
There’s a story here, close your eyes for me,
Beyond staled structures, roads uncharted. Lay reflections of a soul unexplored.
There’s a tale here, close your ears for me,
Narratives yet to be. Not published within books or phones.
Heard, within aged branches breaking beneath the sole, sweet aromas and fables never told.
Close your eyes,
Close your ears,
says the soul,
I lay within vastness, alienated and unexplored.
I thirst, for bewilderment and awe.
I’m dying, and slumbered, for I have been to long unexplored. Narrations stilled from staled walls.
The voice of natures warning, a sudden crack of thunder, deafening the ear, the eye of lust captivated by beauty, storms, unable to see.
The warning of poverty is near, adds one more laborious hour driven by fear, only to hear a knock upon the door, unable to see, confined by cycles, paralyzed by fear, adds one more as poverty draws near.
Left by nature to see, a leaf upon a tree, brown and dying, refusing to leave for there is still need, afraid to see, the leaf remains awhile longer, for death cannot be.
For you see, I am you, this leaf upon the tree, afraid to leave, of what will no longer be.
For you see, I am you, poverty’s cycle standing on the street, searching for one more hour. Broken in cycles and lost of what will no longer be.
For you see, I am you, thunder cracking, lonely and maddened by riddeles and rhymes, for the eye refuses to see what will no longer be.
So you see, you are me, the crow soring above the trees, reflecting the desire to be free, of me, the reflection you see and what may no longer be.
Reflections speak, “I am the you, you refuse to see.”