How I resent these stiff, tortured bones,
the aching, sweaty weight of flesh.
I would be free, formless and weightless;
a whisper on soft summer winds.
I would be strong, but incorporeal;
rolling thunder and falling rain…
Become music, and danced abandon;
slip these mortal bonds for the skies.
Featured poem for August, 2009.
Permalink: http://www.wicasta.com/writing/?p=539
