Finding My Meaning

I was meant for much more than this.

These hands you hold are the tools of creation

The writers of these times, arrangers of music

For feet that were meant to dance,

But lost their rhythm in the tapping of your foot.

Freedom looms for these fingers that spin,

Tangling threads as they try to make silk,

Spelling instead the universal code for suffering

Upon the sand these legs followed you to.

And there’s no air here;

Okay for lungs that forgot how to

Breathe

Ages ago, settling for holding

Turning blue in the absence of the exhale

That will take their use from them,

Rendering them obsolete to an audience that doesn’t exist

Leaving only these lips

To read the obituary

And mourn in silence…

I was meant for so much more than empty rooms

Desolate landscapes of black skies and fallen stars

Beauty to these eyes would be seeing the sun

Beyond your fetters and your chains.

This mind rebels, fights their gaze from the ground,

Urging them to cast out, to move,

To find that sun and rise from this place…

But this heart won’t let them look past you

And realize that the steel is of my own forging.