Bargain
I know I craft from a prisoner's stance,
the spirit, gagged and bound.
I know that redemption is elegant trance,
but wings make an awful sound.
I breathe words in;
I push death through,
and with this crying pen,
I pour it all on you.
I know my voice screams on a page,
though no one hears the sound.
I know that the noise of a deaf mute's rage,
defines the smile of a clown.
I sleep with a veil;
I crawl to the moon,
everything's for sale,
discounts coming soon.
I know my heart is wilting fast,
granite petals fade.
I know my hands cannot last,
I watch them turn to jade.
I hear a heartbeat;
I cannot find a vein,
while passion melts heat,
ink is my guilty stain.
I dream of finer stronger lands,
as I chase the mystery.
But while I build them with my hands,
my soul rips them from me.
Copyright © Carol Richard Weyler | Year Posted 2011
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