Spirit bound and masked,
unacquainted with freedom.
Self assured, in name only – more beggar
than lord.
More child in the corner silently singing
to hold tears, tongue, repent, recoil.
Singing of laughing eyes a’float in kindness —
happy fantasy to pretend to remember.
Run through streetlit puddles,
anonymous legs, trousers, stockings, galoshes, heels.
Stuck in frantic motion.
Shadowlike, insubstantial.
Damp debris smudges ink into ideograms.
Remnants, matted hair and rags
carelessly sewn together.
Feel their tug before
deception’s push catches from behind.
Frozen not in time, but emotion.
Fear of love, thrall of vengeance,
shame of this child in the mirror
lost, cold, defiantly alone.
self is no illusion, no burden, no preordained expression.
self is the I who may act, may decide, may love.
self is the idea, the bed of thought, the hope and aspiration.
self is the resource, raw material from which all blessings bloom.
Free-born to spinning Earth,
curious child of raveling universe
intimately bespeaks destiny.

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