Sta.sh
In my dreams I ride on dragons
Of fire and dew, blood-red
And pure white. In my dreams
I have the confidence to love my body,
But this is dream-shown in the way I flaunt it
And in the way They want it
As They want others. I am
Not the stunted one, second-best with the speech impediment.
I do not compete endlessly with those
Of the bee-stung lips, fragile bones sliding
Smoothly under untainted skin. My dragons and I,
We soar through clouds made of the souls lost
To the soul-less. Our sun is hidden beyond
The mountains in the distance. Those tall towers
With words carved into them,
Words I cannot read from this distance. We
fly closer and the soul-clouds crowd us
Whispering of poisoned lands, pulsating earth
Riddled with pox-marks. A bit higher then,
Away from the tainted soil. The words are
Readable. A Wilfred Owen quote?
"I have paid the price to live my life
On the terms that I have chosen"
Between a world filled with instant beauty
And passionate, fleeting love, and my
Dreams of soul-clouds I hover indecisively.
Do I want to return? Do I want to be a part?
What is it that I dream anyway? Dreams
Come from the subconscious, and the
Back of my mind is cobwebby.
My imagined body, sensual and wanted
Though it may be, doesn't exist. At least,
I can't see it, though others may capture me
When I least expect it.
I'll return to the real world, and will chose my terms wisely. For in the end
We all pay the price of our folly.
Dragon-less I soar in the real world, borne
Above the heads of a populace
Drip-fed on Big Brother, and I pity them. For
Beautiful they may be,
They have never touched my dragons.
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That poem... really makes me sad. I understand a bit of it, and I can sympathise with being the supposedly stunted one. You know what I mean.