Land and sea, I traveled.
Three lifetimes of laying foundations among the clay,
with clay covered hands, far from shifting sands and tidal waves.
My hand to the plow,
my heart intent to see the bloom of change among the walking dead.
But all efforts were in vain.
My eyes lifted high, seeing beyond all stars and moons,
the One whose hand holds all things,
wondering when it would be my turn?
When would the stars shine for me?
When would the moon glow so brightly just for me?
I knew the answer before I asked.
And yet, I hope, and work, slowly moving forward.
But with legs of concrete, I can never fly.
Trapped between earth and sky,
no permission to ascend above or descend below.
Broken wings take too long to heal.
With the blur of red and white lights spiraling in the night,
with the speed of wild cats, a different freedom found –
the freedom to do or die, to disappear or to let go.
Motivation has waned, while I covet sleep,
and the strange battle-filled dreams that come.
Societal dictates have cut me down,
thrown me under the murky line I once lived above.
No time for confabulations, no time for blatant lies.
Time to rise and prove all slanderous words empty and false.
I move through every storm, dragging weary legs through mud filled streets.
There is no quitting, only getting across the finish line.
So I cut the cord of connection, pull it out by its roots,
and toss it into the flames.
Don’t want to want something that can never be.
Dreams lived are lives fulfilled, dreams lost are a bitch to hold,
and yet the spark still tries, like a severed spinal cord.
But don’t you know, it’s better to let go, than to suffer to loss.
Far worse things in this life than the darkness that tries to swallow us.
No monsters or ghouls shadow us tonight,
only the demons in our head whispering lies.
So I’m walking out, looking to heaven for that miracle.
I’ll hang by a thread over the ledge of reality,
with the strength of a thousand men.
Weightless and free.
8th out of 12