I

From the depths of our inner layer

Calls the silent voice of longing.

The missed moments that blur into a cloud

Of insignificance,

Haunt our every thought as if beating quietly

Upon our conscience,

Reminding us of our commitment made

Before we exhaled our first breath.

The first inhale lingers as an unspoken promise

In the air, of a loved one just departed,

The one who loved us enough to give birth to our soul.

I read words written a life time ago and my heart

Tightens with a yearning to return to that self

Who wandered through life,

Connected to an inner voice,

Which lept out onto the page

And viciously captured the injustice

Of the ever present moment creeping into the past.

This past I now live in the present.

II

As it flows, my hair pushes past my face

And conceals the future guised as a windswept

Ghost town dusted by the rising sands

Of the high deserts.

Everyone’s hair is crossing their face

And sticking to their lips

And only half trapped behind their ears.

No-one sees the future.

And why would we?

Why should this body be built with

A pre-called path, with a destination determined

By the molecular structure which is our foundation?

Our foundation is that which gives us strength

And posture, but it is the vision,

The spirit of the vision, the dream of the spirit,

That guides us.

As the tumbling walls of the rickety saloon

Sing of days long gone,

Rejoicing in the memories of shared love

In the presence of the divine spirit of song,

Yet in the face of the darkened souls

Driven by dark liquids,

Consumed in the hours of darkness,

I am still hearing the voices of those gone as I sing along.

As I recapture the forever moment of life,

I recapture my own imagination as I live and breathe

The evening bustle, today and yesterday.

But never the tomorrow.

And why would I?

Why challenge the ever changing present

To capture the future and encage it,

As we would a wild animal?

Doesn’t the future have it’s own sense of freedom?

It’s own soul?

It’s own life beyond our conditioning?

As it flows, time, the wind blows my hair free from my face

And I see clearly.

I see here.
I see now.

III

If I am held prisoner by my own thoughts,
I wonder which part of myself locked me up.

I continue to circle the cell, cold smooth walls

With microscopic cracks bleed along it’s veins of secrecy,

Whilst my naked feet uncurl with each step as they trespass

Through the concrete slabs of conditioned thought.

My finger nails scratch the surface of knowledge

As I dream of an escape.
I hurl myself at the barred window and inhale the freedom of the air outside,

Holding my breath as if to expand my lungs with the promise of emancipation.

About to burst with potential, I release slowly each particle from within,

As they dance in song to un-scored music of a time once lived

By many afore captured prisoners.

I watch them dance like spirits in the sky, as they beckon me from the other side.

Thank you, I hear myself whisper.
And I stretch my wings and fly.