No Longer Washed In Tears Is The Angel of My Birth

The tyrant of my inner emotion,
That dusty dweller shoved in the back of the shelf,
Controls the bridge that's been burned since childhood;
And sacrifices happiness to hind a salty truth.

He plays such a lulling tone,
One with power beyond the sedative sleep of dreams.
This verse of inner magnitude thrives on the maligned fate,
That a mirror may not show, but perspective still embraces.

This grasp he has unwillingly and unbeknowst to me has dead-bolted the door.
The one that leads faithfully to the chasm of charred wood
And lava rocks that heat within thoughts of a leap.

Such horror felt standing in front of this door rises deep to the root
Of a shadowed realization that birth uplifts,
But death envelopes.

And up to now that little boy with mist-fully sad eyes
Has not been able to derive the strength from within to turn the knob,
For darkness shrouds the truth in fear.

BUT I WILL NOT LET THIS PARASITE CONTINUE!

Like the sun rising beyond and within the trees atop the mountain,
Inside me grows a yearning, a strength, a need I have never known before.
This feeling is as enthralling as the first flight of a youthful falcon,
Mustering, feeding on the instincts to step to the edge and jump from his nest
with full belief that his wings will carry him through.

The knowledge that I AM ALIVE AND I AM STRONG
bursts through every pulsating vein,
swims fluidly through every tributary into my heart,
and with one completely vibrant breath I immerse my whole being in the belief,
The realization and epiphany that I am ready, finally ready.

The next move was like a birth of thunder to lightening
As I run steamingly fast towards the door.

And with my last thought I clear my mind of all fear,
I bellow a call of solitude
and scream fiercely through this rustic door of enigma.

And onto the palate of a loving brush I flow
Effortlessly lighting the freedom inside.

Expressing the emotion i've felt was a hinder inside all my life,
I spread my wings of faithful feathers in flight
And never look back.

My head held up I see the face of a familiar angel,
Yet now no longer is she washed in tears,
But shown a bright, rosy smile, and breathed in the cycle of life;
Still giving to the fertile grace of boundless eternity.

Alive with us in every thought of hope, of love, of life.
Every act of love, each birth along with death, as each page binds together
to the seams of the same book.

Re-read, Re-written, and always revolving
around that which is the deepest root,
Battling universal contentiousness,
And driving from that within us all which breathes from the belief within.