I feel like a wild animal
born in a cage;
a cage too small to move in,
to breathe in
to spread my wings in.
I am trapped.
I have never known what it is to run
to leap
to fly;
I have never known
FREEDOM
I have never known what it is to survive
to find food
to fear danger
I have never known another of my own kind
I don't know what that would mean.
I feel like a wild animal
bred in captivity
in a cage too small to move in...
...except...
except the door is hanging
hanging loosely
open
Submitted by Miriam Hitchcock
Showing posts with label Miriam Hitchcock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miriam Hitchcock. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Away
Trust in the wind to blow where it will
Fall into its gusts
away, away, away...
Trust in the tides to keep their own rhythm
Listen and feel it
come away, come away...
Trust in the stars to sail through the sky
Bind their paths to your souls
Come away, come away...
Trust in the Earth to sing through space and live
Sinking into its orbit
away, away, away...
Trust in the leaves as they fall to the ground
to gust every direction
Fall away, fall away...
-submitted by Miriam Hitchcock
Fall into its gusts
away, away, away...
Trust in the tides to keep their own rhythm
Listen and feel it
come away, come away...
Trust in the stars to sail through the sky
Bind their paths to your souls
Come away, come away...
Trust in the Earth to sing through space and live
Sinking into its orbit
away, away, away...
Trust in the leaves as they fall to the ground
to gust every direction
Fall away, fall away...
-submitted by Miriam Hitchcock
Sunday, April 6, 2008
To Live
How can I describe myself when I do not exist? I am the wind; cold fingers running through the trees like a comb through a lady’s hair. I am the fog on a spring morning; too fine to feel and too thick to see through. I am a shadow dancing alongside a flickering flame. I have no heart to circulate blood or to feel emotion. What is heat? What is love? What is pain? What is grief? I am but a wraith. I can never know.
The man approaching his home is whistling a jaunty tune. Though his apartment complex is new to him, the building has stood for many years. It is not the austere castle or majestic cathedral expected of my kind. Even so, within these walls hearts have broken, trust has shattered and dreams have been cast away in despair. These forces which hold me here are at once eternally foreign, for I can neither love nor trust nor dream.
Upon reaching the elevator, the man is silenced by the other occupants’ irritated glares. His soul-light is so brilliant that it blots out those of the others. This light draws me to the man as gravity holds mankind to the Mother’s surface. Perhaps it is like hunger or envy, but it is not a longing; these are all human things. Instead, it is the light which is an objective force from without pulling me toward it, forcing me to follow. The elevator stops and the man enters the hallway with me following. Only once I have consumed that light will I be whole.
When the man reaches his bedroom and comes to his bed, he will find a deep shadow resting upon it. The melody he whistled with such cheer before with return in a slow minor. I await him; the shadow he will see pulsing eerily to the beat.
“Know me.” If I have voice, it is the wind. He is still approaching. And now we touch. With the night-song flowing through him, we begin to merge. He feels me at last, though I am made of nothingness. His light bursts through his fingertips and at last I can feel. We feel each other. And now, together, we dance. The music quickens with his pulse. We skitter through the room, through the night and her sky. I am the moon and he is the tide; I dictate the rhythm of every steep. He is the autumn leaf and I the wind as we skitter and swirl to a new life.
We are twin threads in finely sewn lace. We are tow drops of rain in the sea. Falling together we are one.
I am the harp and she is the music; through me she lives, through me she breathes.
He is the candle and I am the flame.
I am the cloud and she the rain.
I am the altar.
I am the sacrifice.
I am. I live. I breathe. I feel. Now I know bliss, for my voice is more than the howling of wind, my face as bright as the moon, my presence solid and absolute.
So this is what it is to be alive! It is the soft, silken fibers of a flowing dress swirling lightly with every step. It is the swooshing of breath into my newly formed body.
I am. I can walk across the room and I am not a shadow; I cast one. I feel. True humility accompanies my awe, this for he who gifted me with life. I know. I know heat and I know love, have fallen deep into its berth.
From the window comes an icy draft and for the first time I know what it is to feel cold. And there is blood on my hands: all that is left of Him. I am alone with only memory for company. And I taste. I taste the salt of tears. So this is life: despair. And memory! It is a wraith flitting cruelly through the shadows of the heart.
The man approaching his home is whistling a jaunty tune. Though his apartment complex is new to him, the building has stood for many years. It is not the austere castle or majestic cathedral expected of my kind. Even so, within these walls hearts have broken, trust has shattered and dreams have been cast away in despair. These forces which hold me here are at once eternally foreign, for I can neither love nor trust nor dream.
Upon reaching the elevator, the man is silenced by the other occupants’ irritated glares. His soul-light is so brilliant that it blots out those of the others. This light draws me to the man as gravity holds mankind to the Mother’s surface. Perhaps it is like hunger or envy, but it is not a longing; these are all human things. Instead, it is the light which is an objective force from without pulling me toward it, forcing me to follow. The elevator stops and the man enters the hallway with me following. Only once I have consumed that light will I be whole.
When the man reaches his bedroom and comes to his bed, he will find a deep shadow resting upon it. The melody he whistled with such cheer before with return in a slow minor. I await him; the shadow he will see pulsing eerily to the beat.
“Know me.” If I have voice, it is the wind. He is still approaching. And now we touch. With the night-song flowing through him, we begin to merge. He feels me at last, though I am made of nothingness. His light bursts through his fingertips and at last I can feel. We feel each other. And now, together, we dance. The music quickens with his pulse. We skitter through the room, through the night and her sky. I am the moon and he is the tide; I dictate the rhythm of every steep. He is the autumn leaf and I the wind as we skitter and swirl to a new life.
We are twin threads in finely sewn lace. We are tow drops of rain in the sea. Falling together we are one.
I am the harp and she is the music; through me she lives, through me she breathes.
He is the candle and I am the flame.
I am the cloud and she the rain.
I am the altar.
I am the sacrifice.
I am. I live. I breathe. I feel. Now I know bliss, for my voice is more than the howling of wind, my face as bright as the moon, my presence solid and absolute.
So this is what it is to be alive! It is the soft, silken fibers of a flowing dress swirling lightly with every step. It is the swooshing of breath into my newly formed body.
I am. I can walk across the room and I am not a shadow; I cast one. I feel. True humility accompanies my awe, this for he who gifted me with life. I know. I know heat and I know love, have fallen deep into its berth.
From the window comes an icy draft and for the first time I know what it is to feel cold. And there is blood on my hands: all that is left of Him. I am alone with only memory for company. And I taste. I taste the salt of tears. So this is life: despair. And memory! It is a wraith flitting cruelly through the shadows of the heart.
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