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The Opportunist

09 Nov

And grace is known only through
Her antithesis. All else is a grand
Imposter.

I thank the tall weeds for gripping
My ankles so tight I could not move
Or dream. I thank the rain drops for
Clouding my eyes so that honesty
Was unrecognizable. I thank the
Swamp mud for filling my mouth
Absent of voice or opinion. I thank
The wind for chilling my heart so
That logic took over my thoughts.
I thank the waves for washing my
Brain and soul, melting individuality
Away with the tide. I thank the sun
For burning my skin, providing a
Crisp hide to weather life’s scars.

For had the weeds and the rain drops,
The swamp mud and the wind, the
Waves and the sun not subjugated me,
Had they not torn freedom from my
Gut. Had they not stolen my desire
For ambition and faith—I would never
Have recognized the sweet breath of
Liberty against my cheek. I would not
Have understood the tune of her song.
I would have never known to grasp her
Sturdy hand and become a new citizen
Of opportunity and dreams and… redemption!

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Posted by on November 9, 2011 in POETRY: Culture

 

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