Change

To change is not a sentence;
It is poetry in motion,
A life seen then recreated.

Outgrown and out-sown
the reconciliation of difference.
Peace-filled regurgitation in
deference to the sickness
often spewed at one’s societal reckoning.

It’s stop, look, listen
at the bastards that have shaped
the ideologist brain stem,
Then casting it all
to the ends of time
in a reinvention of self and soul.

Stepping into the truth
of own reality and dispelling all
and any cast of line
in attempts to reel you back in.
Cutting ties that have bound you
to a truth that was never your own.

Moving into a space where freedom
sets the wind under the wings
that have spouted and lifts.
New heights in adventure
and forever seen with the eyes
of a babe at first exploration.

Becoming as one
with the stars and the sun
In burning rotation of the
spheres atmospheric transformation.

Setting fire to all that was once
the reality
in which the life of one followed,
in the robotic movement of the strings
which the puppeteer played.

Walking to the beat
of paths untrodden
in symbiotic semblance
of what was once reality.
Now created to the reasoning
of minds own creation.

Coming to the rationale
of all that ever will be,
Retains the grasp in hand,
to become the Master Puppeteer.

Change

Leyla Hur

Kanata, Canada

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  • Leyla Hur
  • indigo-song
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