shackles

the liberation of confined benevolence

“Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking
from the cup of bitterness and hatred.”
―Martin Luther King Jr

seeking miracles,
that your life may rise above its dirt,
out of your shackles
you would squeeze, leaving behind the hurt.
yet, your naked skin
bristles in unsympathetic fire,
while, from deep within,
hunger-pains make morbid your desire

to ascend on wings,
way above the strangle-clouds that bait
where your freedom sings,
every time you try to burst the gate.
simple, angry words
murderous your thoughts make in the night,
for time ill-affords
that your angst should shudder with such might.

simple, angry deeds
dangerous your heart make in the sting
of the hope that bleeds,
killing every lovely, hopeful thing.
simple grudges honed
like the sharp, keen edge of pointing swords
have for nought atoned,
for disdain inspires no peace accords.

not strange oracles
shall redeem your self-afflicted soul;
nor the tentacles
of your elevated pride parole
one who scorns the earth.
kiss the lowliness of righteous living;
that may die the dearth
of the boundless joys of selfless giving.

© Copyright 2023 June 28
by Clyve A. Bowen♫