Wednesday, 27 May 2015

Broken people can get mended



Once upon a time,
a man was left drifting,
flowing in fields of dolemite,
after dark shadows had called,
with cruel fists that left him,
beaten and broken.

He'd daily pay a visit to a bottle,
his new warm and beloved friend,
that left him confined to his cage,
where he would sleep through raging storms,
tremble under blazing suns,
tossing and turning,
twisting and churning,
mulling things over,
all through the days and nights,
shivering in summer,
steaming in winter,
following paths ,
shaped with disorder.

God never called, 
but one day something changed,
unhinged by solitude and too much drink,
he grasped for something fresh,
tingling with reparation,
he began to persist,
started again to smell freedoms taste.

With practice,
he learnt to play again,
go  once more outside into the world,
to follow again, the delicate steps of breathing,
to dance again with the wild glow of tomorrow,
to try and shake of the residues of sorrow,
inhaling now, the sweet blossoms of the morning,
in trust again, with the whirling vastness,
of desire and love.


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