A Part of the Story… [an allocution]

Somehwere in a tempest of soul

I found without sight a door

a mirror of sort;

I reached for its handle to open

as if to grasp my own hand

to lead the way



I could hear long forgotten

and unrequited emotions

stirring in their seats

as soles patting in some jazz juke joint

looking for some sort of repose//

an open door to escape

yet too afraid to face the light

like shadows hiding their faces

hearts praying for clouds

and each a new door to open


Each waiting to take the stage

to verbalize the secrets long burried

in dried up oceans soon to be exposed

to perched birds who take to the burnt sky

they prey with intent.


Lost in the frequency

a coalescence of notations

brass and spirit vibrations

incite movement of these reposed words;

how do I find home if I’ve never been there

love if it was always painful

freedom if ever so elusive

trust when forever betrayed

how do these words take flight

if they have no wings…

see this tempest interrogates

every conceived pathetic fallacy

like wind crowing in my ear…

…you should do this,

let them go, see how far they can fly…



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