A girl sat alone today
And why she did I couldn’t say
She had a smile upon her, fey
One that, to heaven, was debased
And yet she wasn’t free
The darkness in my heart is hot
It screams and twists and writhes in rot
It calls me names and warns me that
I will fall today.
But I can smile, and so I do
A breath let free from me to you
Trembling, as I know it’s true:
I am never free.
Her eyes are pure like pools so sweet
Her teeth are sharp as you they greet
Bare and cold and made of meat
The girl who wasn’t free.
She digs in with her hands like claws
Tears the flesh from you raw
Strikes you down with all her might
She isn’t free.
The darkness in my heart today
Causes all my thoughts to fray
I bid it please just go away
And I am still not free
The dark inside is murdering me
With claws and teeth I set you free
To roam the world, a ghost, and see
Exactly who you’re meant to be.
She dug in hard with talons on hands
Ripped free a heart and in silken bands
She took it, held it, hid it away
Never to see the light of day
Only for those who saw to say:
Is a man
Who is free.
Ay yes, free to wander
As a ghost
To see the world she meant him to see
Glory, ay, glory be
And praise to him eternally
Blessed are they and blessed are we
To be trapped in our lives
And live. In chains we thrive,
In chains we be,
But if that is free in truth and in heart
Then better for us and better for me
That truly we are never free.”
So in darkness, wicked and hot
The girl lurked within, besot
With a lover’s heart she took from he
Who once believed he’d never be free
And so he wandered to and fro
From place to place
And tree to tree
Dead and yet still more alive
Than the people below him be
Who, chained and broken
Whisper hymns to remind themselves
Of the pain of freedom’s ring
And in their confused and tormented sate
Of true death do they sing.
Who is truly dead or dying
In light of lives undone?
Who is truly at their end
And who has just begun?
Tis not a question I could answer
Or one I seek to speak
But if provide a one I could:
‘Freedom’ is not for the meek.
It isn’t for the sick at heart
Or those who linger
Closed behind their doors
It isn’t for the hands who tweak
The strings to control us whores
It isn’t for the hardest hearts
Or the people with none to share
No, freedom is deeper than that
And freedom doesn’t care
Who you are
Or what you are
It will find you there.
To all it comes like gossamer
Woven out of thread
To most it comes more softly than
A bullet to your head
And when the ancient ties with what
You thought was yours are gone
When you find yourself unbound
And free you float, undone
You are there in freedom’s grasp
Clutched tighter than that heart
And secreted away like so many others
and in the dark.
2014 © Sam Oliver (Eris)
Not much to say about this. Just trying to poetry out some bad feelings. Yeah, poetry is a verb. I just made it one. Don’t read too much into it. I mean, unless you want to?? I’m sure it’s a poem just RICH with philosophy. Roiling with it. Rrrrrife with it.
Anyway, I’m gonna see about (I always say this but I mean it) getting some actual storywork done. And speaking of work, I’m looking for some. Since writing stories and typing and communicating are all things I’m really good at, if anyone has some suggestions for where I might find work and wants to drop them in the comments that would be awesome.
It just occurred to me that hitting one hundred short stories THIS year would be awesome too. So that’s my new goal. It’s the same as the old goal, but y’know. This time I should have less time to spare for doing diddly squat, so that should help. Eight short stories in one year is alright, but that’s not even one a month! I’m positively certain I could do better than that. I’ll prove it.
Oh, and Happy New Year everybody. Maybe my next piece of poetry will be more uplifting~ (and with less time than two months between it. Yeah, that would make sense.)