Sedated Air
Haste not be made, I value the silence in this swamp of sweetly strewn surrender. I navigate the trail where many persons sunk into the mud. I can clearly keep my footing through the muck others have only attempted to trudge. It’s ignorant to recall the trials within the story of me, a man now unafraid. Persons can either lionize or demonize the spirit one derives from heartache, and for others to recall my falls will remain bitter. Ask if it’s possible to honor yourself with triumph. God rejects the big plans you made to meet Him halfway. Humble I remain as I submerge deeper. Time has made this a plethora of affairs and obstacles to clear. All the trickery in the touch of the leaves is amusing to me. I have no ideals regarding whether I could rise to heroism. I earned the stripes and badges. Yourself? Can you see or feel my affection? Can you open yourself to the love of nature? Can you forgo the disenchantment as we move to the tall grass waiting for our toil and levity? Years ago, I was just a naive youth who was barricaded within the vast misfortune of my efforts. My realities were imaginings once. They were a respite from loneliness. It was a concept to realize discipline is needed. You need to prompt yourself to never fear, but brave elements. Universe: a community of various types of stars, whether ethereal or on this Earth. Here, I stand to tell my story. You are my first choice, as I should leave myself open to the process. God almighty, I would cross the depths. Be it sand, mud, or slush, my aspirations are of my making, of my soul, of my desire to be loved. Dreams, now realities I release into the world I’ve grown to appreciate. I am cheerful that I’ve traversed, I aim for happy media, even when I sink deep.
Jack M. Freedman is a poet and artist from Staten Island, NY. He is the author of ...and the willow smiled and Art Therapy 101 (Cyberwit.net, 2019). Publications featuring his work span the globe.
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