Just to break the mood a little bit--
of oppression.
This is a poem that I wrote several years ago
and it's a sort of a truncated line sonnet.
It's more of a song than anything else,
at the moment, titled "Poem."
"Watching the heron dip in flight, I see her wandering,
and I know her ways.
Her song has snared my brain.
I know my fate, but I am silent as the moon.
She is who I am, and I remain alive by dreaming what I can.
I pull the strings, I play the tune.
She moves with light on every limb,
her shadow lies along the sand.
Only the moon knows who I am.
She moves like fire in the wind.
The moonlight shimmers.
Her skin is gold.
The dream is what I am when I'm alone."