Friday, February 27, 2015
With younger eyes,
I once imaged the tethers were reins,
my feet would street stampede,
my chin would ride high,
and my road was bright.
But there's no white horses here.
Born into bankruptcy, into destitution,
silence is justice,
must only be love.
So I'm just... not good enough,
the bastard child with no hope below,
and no answers from above.
in the unquestionable virtues of radiant white feathers,
I've come to know shackles when I see them.
For with tears I have called out for reasons...
but with far more tears,
I've been ignored.
No longer do I aspire to worlds of white-
visions of clouds seen from the other side.
my faith is gone, my allegiance unclear.
for I refuse to serve an absentee father,
refuse to call love, fear.
Ill make substitutions instead;
trade my dreams for addictions
that will hold me whenever I call.
Ill decide on tragedy,
resolve myself to damnation.
At least in my own world,
where I hold the keys to creation,
will never promise to make me happy.