The indomitable human sprit vs. the abominable human nature (a cage match)
.
I am the cage
.
Sometimes song is not enough
Sitting here, on the edge of this patch of world
With winds that have traveled far
pressing against my watery eyes
All of these sounds are hollow
broken reeds
Sometimes song is too much
Bellowing reminder of the suffering trees
In pandemonious harmonies
clamoring about astral chains
Rattling pinions of soul
between earth and cloud
Sometimes the silence
Hailing from the heart of the night
Beckons me to shiver
And I want to run away
From everything
Chase a dream
I don’t even have
If
I were to spread my wings and fly
Would you fly away with me
Nothing but the sky and sea
Leave this world far behind
Would you fly with me
Fly with me
Away
Sometimes song is everything
When I face my responsibility
And far more importantly
I see what you mean
to the world
and I could never take that away
because what you are
is important to who you are
and I will never go anywhere
with out you
I
will
ne
ver
fly
I
will
ne
ver
fly
I
will
ne
ver
fly
I
will
ne
ver
fly
I
will
ne
ver
fly
I
will
never
.
March 28, 2008 at 10:01 am
Master Ozy, this poem is incredibly powerful and beautiful.
I’ve felt this way recently:
“I were to spread my wings and fly
Would you fly away with me
Nothing but the sky and sea
Leave this world far behind
Would you fly with me
Fly with me
Away”
the fluttering at letters at the end…
you blow me away sometimes…
and we all know what happens when we say “never”
~sigh~
March 28, 2008 at 1:27 pm
Another beauty.
March 28, 2008 at 3:22 pm
Nice, I like how it goes from substantive declarative to E.E. tentative wing beats. Makes me want to fly my dragon kite with almost strong anchor.
March 28, 2008 at 10:26 pm
Oh this is sad, i know how you feel…..i call it being ‘uncomfortably human”
March 29, 2008 at 12:59 pm
Graphically that was just cool. The poem speaks of such longing. It’s beautiful Oz.
April 1, 2008 at 8:13 pm
Visually this is gorgeous. Mostly it has the rhythms of prose, which makes your brief lyrical forays — like “In pandemonious harmonies / clamoring about astral chains” — feel like a fledgling striving to get out of the nest, but still tumbles at the end “I will never fly . . . I will never fly . . .” and so on. Melancholy and sweet. Impressive.