Anonymity.

It takes me back to when I was young,

Bold.

Fearless, and told to

“Rub some dirt in it,”

Before being fit into a mold

And told

That this is what life is.

Takes me back before the stress ground my teeth to the roots

Back when roots were under trees and not in mouths.

Takes me back to the cool clay

And making mud marbles hardened in the summer sun,

When concerns were bug bites and sunburns.

Back to gasps when looking into the night,

Waiting to be hit with a spotlight.

But now, there is no home base to run to,

No way to hide my breathing among the leaves I hide myself in

Or the eye shine that betrays me.

It is only running in the dark now,

Tripping through forests and nearly drowning in rivers.

And I worry that my forest dark and deep is too much to conceal

Under the mask,

That proclaims

Bold.

Fearless…

 

How can something so small survive

Among rolling thunder and water and rock

When all of humanity is struck down

Year after year from that which

Nature has already learned.

We’re novices in for the game,

Not realizing that fame as a sickness

Incurable and reducing fitness to a crawl.

We carry what Nature never would

What gift God refused her,

To capture emotion in pen and page.

To escape- what She could never do-

I have been given to cling to.

A loud voice from the crowd

Unable to be silenced due to anonymity

Able, to say what the world cannot.

 

There is never enough gratitude

That comes from a heart broken

When the world has pounded them with waves

And shattered them into the sand.

And they will believe they are insignificant, and should never speak

But then have the unbearable urge to disagree

To strive for the perfection they can never be.

I do it to prevent more pain

Like it is some personal gain

Of peace and a gentle sigh.

The words and actions and gift giving will never span

The gap created in the wake of all the storms.

To me, the storm might as well be perpetual

A roving burden too heavy for just one to carry.

There is no peace for these weary.

When you meet one, you will know.

You will see the storm in their eyes

And how their deepness can surprise you;

How much they will bare for you as they break.

 

Listen, and hear

Read, and learn

Know, and understand

Even if they only speak with broken rhyme and verse. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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