Here I am:
Standing naked of earth and sand –
To rid this dusty land of legacy and rotted out bones, bleed ashen words upon this page of virgin tones.
My youth, thus, desecrated – imprudence awaits, a trust and an unknowing glance from a sleepy boy’s eyes,
Why, is this a generational hindrance from ancient times?
Or, was it simply her?
I don’t know, but she gave me fuel to write.
Within this Omega Point of integrity, we shall always be tested
amongst the god’s ruins,
or, as a ripening soul
embarked upon a journey
of the humanity factor, and
of an evolutionary force.
Yet, as I write with venomous ink
From this revolutionary pen
Nostalgic thoughts creep in, again.
But, within a heart of damage that hears her fate –
My poetic query begins to interrogate, as
I begin to rid this dusty land of legacy and rotted out bones, bleed ashen words upon this page of virgin tones.
You describe very eloquently the pain that often drives poetry. The phrase “a revolutionary pen” gives one hope that breakthrough will emerge through the pain. Love your writing!
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Thanks so very much Judith. I am quite grateful you understand the poem’s distinct message.
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Like Dorothy, it took me a while to get the big “IT.”
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Thank you Franchesca!
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