Shirley I Am Part Three
the spirit in my head, this my brain is constantly feed,
and in all likelihood, will persist until I am dead.
All possibilities seem to have gone to waste
and that is all these eyes seem to be faced
with as I ran the race and with many, raced
through life without much thought and in such haste
to meet up with family, all whom I once called friend
as I reach out, reach into the ether only to end
with all these vacant words, an empty soul to send
on its journey across time and space, hoping to mend.
by offering – little more than inundated memories
to appease, lift me from the grave, past the trees
where souls, spirits hover, know the hand that frees
grief, regrets from all they rage against in tempest seas.
Oh !, what a waste it is, for me to be enraged
by the fact that I am locked in age – caged
by times passing, with all my thoughts – staged
for - who knows ? - for those who wish to see
what I was, what I am, what has become of me,
projected into space, an understanding of what be
the essence, the answers to my spirit, my soul
for anyone who cared, could come to know.
I do wonder ?, how life could be for me, if not fraught
by black clouds, heavy shrouds, battles to be fought.
I wonder how life would be ?, if upon a beam - caught
up by the light, exposed to all – what I have sought.
That light – pure, honest, can only shine upon the tale of me
in words, beliefs, feelings, that in the end, all can see
that everything written, has always been about me.
For that is who I am ( me, myself and I ) for the world can see,
as can all those who have known or tried to touch me.
For there is little more for me to show, or for you to see,
then what’s before your eyes - laid on heavy by me.
There will come a day when all is shown.
There will come a day when all is known.
There will come a day when all is shared.
There will come a day when all is cared
for, all are cared for, all will be cared for
with an open heart, no longer a closed door
to greet, just unconditional love. for evermore.
What we have here !, ?, is.
Prophecy ?
The heights of insight ? The depths of insanity ?
The curtain has finally come down on this play.
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2006
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2015
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