Myth Of Freedom

Folder: 
Vintage Words

     

For the life-interred, I offer a new

way  of seeing. The mind indeed has an eyeful

nurtured by the mundane. Form a portrait

of anything beautiful or someone lovely,

then push off pain for a time. Deny anguish

and a human will emerge and find a past

without scratches or stains. These need not

be indelible. Use the brain like window

cleaner.  

   

The heart cools, the gentle self slowly erodes,

like topsoil, rich with smiles and the ability

to tell a joke to entertain. The tongue twists

forming words like hope, the mind bends

on concepts of what could have been.  

    

Somewhere in the brain, a spark like a laugh

in dark loneliness flickers. There lives a simple

thought of what the world has become. Leaving

a mark was the goal. Universally imprisoned 

just about sums up the myth of going home.  

   

allets

03-15-15

1003a

  

 

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