A Means to an End Reversed
Little words with wings
used to fly from my pen,
perching, oh so nicely, upon the paper.
Their congregation spelling out poems
of nature, of magic.
I nurtured them.
They grew into bigger words
that spoke of love,
of time well spent,
joy in the process.
I fed them pages of synonyms,
watered with rhyme and meter.
I sent them into the world
where some were cherished,
while others returned beaks
filled with worms of pink.
They were my chicks, my hatchlings.
I loved them all,
until a single-minded tom appeared,
purring with affection,
kitty-kissing his way
into my heart, my life.
His love grew more insistent,
his needs into demands.
The feeding of the chick-lets
fell to hastily stolen time.
His purpose soon consumed me,
his notions were set in stone.
My words began to falter,
to starve from my neglect.
I hid them from his jealousy,
fearing his disdain.
It became more difficult to see them,
their wings no longer flew.
In despair and desperation,
I put away the pen,
used the paper for list making.
I locked my words into a cage,
vowed away the key.
Sometimes, in the dark of dreams,
I heard their weakened chirps.
But, I told my gods I would not look
if I were granted peace.
Illusion lived for many years
masking broken heartedness.
With age, came the wisdom
that I had practiced folly.
I tried to undo my foolish oath.
I chanted and I magicked.
I hung with wordy folks,
afraid that they would see
that it was truly I
that had caged my lovely flock.
I sharpened many quills,
lay out reams of paper,
blew dust from Webster and Thesaurus.
Still no winged words appeared.
By happenstance, I met a friend,
a wild-haired Shaman woman.
She healed with words,
she pushed with wit.
Her stories fed my Soul.
She issued me a challenge
to write for 30 days,
no shame, no guilt, no pressure,
just my words, my light, my pain.
How frightening, how enlightening?
I was offered freedom with her grin.
I found the key to unlock the words,
their cage is thrown away.
I have let them wing around,
silly, sad, prosed, and rhymed,
fed with support and words of encouragement.
I see them perch upon the page once more,
my heart begs me to promise
to keep them strong, to feed them right,
to let them soar once more
for all the world to see...
or not.
It doesn't matter
as long as they are written.
This last piece written on the last day is dedicated to Magaly, to my wonderful Word Sisters that have shared their pieces with me and the world, and to the readers who came by and took a look.
To see more of our last day:
http://magalyguerrero.com/poetry-gone-wild/
