I listen to them fling their words at me
Fragments of thoughts that are as jaded
As the characters whose barren minds
First formed their unwilling shapes.
They cry out to me, shouting, screaming,
Begging me back into their confidence
Yearning for my impressionable spirit
To break before them, to be molded
As they see fit for me to be. I am theirs.
No! I refuse to be bought! I am my own, I am.
I cover my listening ears, I will not be
Subject to the poison of their song
I will not be who they say I am, I will not!
Defiantly standing outside my expected place
Holding on to the very sounds which
They claim are wrong, to the structure-less
Forms of my words, the frame-less lines
My thoughts have grown around
I am as much free as the beautiful caged
Plant that grows in my mother's back yard
Holding onto the rusting metal that holds
The green leaves in their gentle place
Keeping them ever confined, captive always
To be held within their own growing pains
Rustling their leaves in the wind, pretending to
Dance beneath the passing clouds, watching
The glimpses of the misguided birds fly over head
They are not free, we are not free, all are trapped
Chained by our own limiting thoughts,
Snared by the rules given to us, remaking us into
Shells that reflect nothing in the dung of our words
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