I wanted to break free

I give you love: a field of spirits—both Jewish and Pagan. I

want so much to speak a Word, but what is this life—but

soul and music, love and death. Forgive a riddle, where

parents dispute life and guide; for we love, fingers

forming identity, and fathers cooking dinner. But imagine

art—a daily task, where best is mediocre, and tears—a

precious girl. I so need to feel, nearly extinct, semi-desensitized.

But death is law, and life is brief, warring groans and isolation.

So die and write, scribble and find, for worth is accolades, and

truth is unification. Indeed, earth is both deep and shallow;

but love the deep, and soothe the shallow. Yes, my heart—a

world is cold—and warmth is rare; but find and hold, and live

and sculpt, for soul and wealth, a gentle voice. I so wish to guide,

gazing ritual and pain; but cards were dealt, and God was

laughing. It’s the deepest secret, crying for knowledge, but

hearth and grain, a rise and yield.