Friday, March 15, 2013

Inherited Wisdom

                 — Inspired by the poem "Hunger for Something" by Chase Twichell

Our wishes are alchemy, such delicate portions, 
incomplete portraits of rising, fragrant skins,  
origami elegantly draped and intricately woven, 

charred creations of who we thought we were —
smoldering embers of who we would be again 
if we weren't so fully stitched by remnants, 
snared in silken webs of time.

Our memories are slow reflections undone 
by subtle shadows, pooled and shimmering, 
they shall surge beneath reminiscences of laughter,
a suddent scent of what instinct tried so hard to forget —
our voices are broken and our hands tremble
as they attempt to wipe away useless tears, 
unburden our unfounded fears.

We consistently rub these jagged edges 
until they are polished and smooth, 
so we may walk upon these brittle stones,
disregarding wounds we once knew as truth.

Somewhere between those moments, 
let us breathe, become precious,
aware of what might have been, but never was.

Let us ease our aches without remorse —
allow ourselves to reach beyond the severing 
and finally learn to live, instead of only surviving.

If evolution could come full, fair and swift, 
our wings would simply unfurl from these knotted fists;  
a new day's light will glisten, wildflowers damp with dew. 

The wind shall ruffle through tufted feathers 
as we soar —

beneath this silent breadth of sky, 
far above the woeful world.