O where has my heart gone and seen,
With my soul regenerating from a broken
spleen,
I dare go where others shunned in dreams,
Life has it to be, for I am more than what
I seem,
I heard the call from a warrior's past,
Drifted in and out of memories' rough
draft,
Seeking truth in lies told from a selfish
wrath,
Self aware and rising; the phoenix begins
its flightpath,
If words find me empty, then they will fill,
Lifting the veil on what I tried so hard to
conceal,
Shaping my existence for my essence and
heavens to congeal,
As I watch my old ways fall into a dust
like a snake's peel,
In awe as my autumns cannot compare to
my winters,
Learning I was the only blockade that
hindered,
Of all my toil in vain that I rendered,
Knowing myself was the key forgotten,
It took my trust and will, to remember.
YOU ARE READING
Freedom Of Thought.
PoetryIf my thoughts were a pen and my hands were the canvas, even I would not fully get the sense of it.
