The tyrants bore
What is the voice
that grumbles thus
and slams the weight of
iron onto my back
Sinking me
a half foot length into the ground
like it's sand?
I suppose you could say
I am closer now
to the grit and the glass
and the ore and mineral:
Compacting and breathing like
a mountain range beneath me
or like a field revolving
stirring its fertile furrows through.
Can I see down here
beneath the tyrants bore
what I'm really made of?
--
Spinning in my head
like a Catherine Wheel of tension:
A swirl of grievance,
a tight twirl of rage
(akin to throbbing)
Interlacing my skull with points of sorry.
I am learning to respond to me.
Ro notice me there in the echoes and emanations.
I am learning to speak
to me.
I the many faced hag,
priestess, angel afear'
Alight my tounge -
I spit out your creation!
I am skin-sworn before the
cusp.
____
Written: 2020
Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJfC6gT1T2A
(SoulPOETree on Youtube)
Poetry by Maija Liepins
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Written on 2021-04-26 at 20:43
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