My eyes,
in squint from swirling rush of smoke dust
linger on identity,
pondering my place.

Once again transformed and shaken, I am still here.

I am survival;
brilliant in my plumage
as I inhale success.

Cast away are shackles
formed in ash as my wings spread,
capturing hope
to soar to heights of greater good.

Bruises have colored my warm skin too many times,
yet heart beats steady rhythm,
qualifying existence.

Time has moved me between endings and beginnings.

Scaled  tears have surrendered to sorrow.
Their spill remembers to celebrate
the greatness of good.
I am more than what has been done to me,
or who I am told I am.

There shall be no distance calculated on request,
there shall be no rhythm qualified by jealousy,
and I will not be weighed, measured and determined.

No bird song will sing from my heart
when judgment calls.
Such scrutiny shall be rewarded with silence.
Branded evil will not be recognized,
for my heart is pure.

Beginnings and endings have moved me through time.

Worthy of love's first place position, and no less,
my value matters, and for the best of love,
my soul is laudable.

I shall strut my feathers,
flaunt my decorations,
and know all of me survives
despite another's indiscretion.

Callous chatter idles
in the hurt of
cruel word play.

Once again transformed and shaken, I am still here.

Identity in linger
ponders my position.
Within the swirl of smoke and dust,
eyes squint.

Copyright © 2007
Pamela A. Lamppa
(All Rights Reserved)

Poetry by Pamela A Lamppa
Read 1151 times
Written on 2007-06-23 at 01:15

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