Carol Richard Weyler Poet Rhyme

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.

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