The Poem (Inspired By David Smalling)

Before the lapwing learned to fly Before the flower came to die Or make a presence of death Out of the fragrance of our breath Before the drum And before the thunder rolled A voice Behind the curtain of the dark Like a quickening, sudden spark A voice Across the waters scrolled And now behold Words with wings of tongue beating In little cages, singing heartbroken songs The Word Becoming man Dreaming of eternity out of eternity That seems never coming back again And I Breaking global boundaries with my feathers I crying to leave my chains Like sepulchre clothing in a cave I hating the partition of rooms, the segment of brains Hating the new world order and oppression Know my cage is not vitual O let no genie turn my love into a ritual I hear their wings beating in head My heart is a sudden sleepless bed I write the sound of images My heart returning where I fled Time and space chaining me to the dead Things giving birth in my head.