Friday, April 27, 2007

A Name to Call Our Own

An old poem, a friend suggested that I should wait to publish these and see if they still hold truth for me.
This one holds a different kind of truth than it did before.


Words escaping in the heat of the moment.
People that held our hands.
Mountains that grew higher,
And higher
‘Til we could no longer see their tops,
For we were but foothills.

The air that we looked upon
But we could not see.

We only heard about it after exhaling
We were sure that we could breath
Some of us.

Some of us were not content to just breath
We found satisfaction knowing we could hold our breath
Not in fear, not even illuminated wonder,
Maybe defiance, but not really.

Could a finger be put upon what we were sure of?

No.

No hammers could be brought down on the open limitless sky
Oh my, it ends at the end of the atmosphere.
I knew that, I knew it with every inch of me.
But I also was aware that the hammer could be brought down on me/us.

And that knowledge,
That beautiful song
Erased my fear.

Once I was gone the road would be there.
Not for others, my road was my own.
Once I knew that, I had no fear.
No fear would or could be found in me
It was then that I realized
Nothing would ever fear me.
And that was all I could ever ask for.


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