Wrestled Notes

“I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore; when he beats his bars and he would be free, it is not a carol of joy or glee, but a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core.” – Paul Laurence Dunbar

andreation

Simple prognosticated rhythms flow and diverge

Collapsed principles pile in crumpled beats

Pounding the seconds to say a moment

A tickled thought dances in pretend reality

Hobbled by fettered hope in surreal mist

Finding shadows that breathe life in short bursts

Life’s nemesis throttles the throat of peaceful suns

Wrestled notes become a winged song