this thing i profess to be
has grievously diverged,
change is mute
my articulate voice-
why it searches the past,
the arduous nature
so difficult to read
what color could i add
judging this flower by its roots
stalking my yet to be dreamed dreams
visions give scant advantage
to know what went before,
speaking the voice i desire to be
there is freedom!
take sides will jeopardize
my position - be a fool to use it?
and devil to despise
i ask within
do i have any taste inside myself
for stones of mothers rich earth,
of fields with morning sounds
intersecting history,
adorning fables over fact
a glorious collision
Adding your comment:
yes.
