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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1052092
An epic poem describing how I became who I am.
         This tale is true and mine,
And quite magical, at that,
It’s one of malevolence, growth, and change,
Both of the mind, and heart.
Quite simply did this tale begin,
Yet shrouded with impending pain,
And though I came to this earth
All those years ago, the day this event
Occurred, was the day my life began.
         What, in my personality is seen,
Is a yellow rose among red, making
Full acceptance, something I’ve not achieved.
Like a broken horse, I once worked
For whom would be called friends.
I did labor of body and soul,
Made your puppet of greed,
And though my hazy rebuttals
Were masked behind years of bright faces,
Joy of spirit was hard to find,
Beneath my sparkling graces.
         I was pulled from my dreams
One day, to the piercing sounds of alarm,
And when forced to look at myself
In a reflective pool of glass,
I was as if a Spanish explorer,
Looking into the deceptive oceans
For the first time, and I saw
Blatant sadness there. No sparkles of light
Lurked in the corners and I then knew
What I had once longed for
Had turned the once sunny skies
Into a smoky abyss of crashing waves,
That drew me in, until I was but
A slave of my own mind.
         And so I swam and I flailed,
I made every attempt to be free.
The grief-burdens of another day
Quickly withered into a new type
Of matter of heart. And the threat
Of rain slowly dissipated into
An arch of color and grace.
What I once thought myself to
Be shrank away, A piece of bread
Tossed into a pond, so I could
Become the flower, the radiant,
Magnificent flower, I knew
Always bloomed inside of me.
         This tale is true and mine,
And quite magical, at that,
It shaped the person I am today,
And quite forcefully made a woman of me,
From an incredibly different, young girl.


***(I understand the first line of this poem is also the first line of a translation of Burton Raffel's "Seafarer" and I give him full credit for its creation.)
© Copyright 2006 Aaaaarabella (tactfull at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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