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{ October 26, 2009 @ 4:26 pm } · { poetry }

I want to see.

Pluck from my eyes the translucent film. Obstructing, prohibiting, lying.

I want to breathe.

Deep, eternal, hold the succulent fresh air, luminescent, new and brimming with life.

I want to hear.

Patient, attentive: as the grain hears the wind and responds perfectly, with sharpness and tender love.

I want to taste.

Our friendship, our love: an appetite for communal peace, each drop as savory as the last.

I want to feel.

Alive. Look into my childish eyes and I in yours. Intertwined, our souls are. Tangible, unfettered, genuine. Vulnerable.

I long to be.

—

Mother, can you hear me as my lamentations echo upon your walls, or have we polluted your thoughts; too perverse, too greedy, too egocentric?

Father, can you see me as I grasp for your hands, your child, flailing and desperate, or have we turned so far away that the distance is too great; cloaked in pain, blame, and lies, twisting our vision into mere phantoms that resemble the idols we have built?

Brother, can you feel my breath upon you as I whisper my best attempts of love, or has our tongue become that of a serpent, permeated with blasphemy and bitter betrayal.

Sister, can you taste the sweat of my labor, the songs of the field, dripping with humility and kindness, or have we become so lazy, uneducated, and hateful, as to poison the water that bears eternal life?

Mother, can you forgive us?

–

Can we see!?  Will you allow us to breathe deep, hear tenderness, taste loveliness, and feel alive? Shall we continue to isolate ourselves with damnation?

I want to see.

I want to come home.

 

 

Edward Westover

Monday, August 10, 2009