a mentor's torment 7/7/13

a mentor's torment . . .

How deep of a premise, ( is given)?

How wide of a permission, ( is allowed)?

How hard is the spoken lesson

the back of my hand

a self admittance attack?

Is this the grain of sand

that spawned the growth from within?

It cannot verbally be given back.

It cannot ever be seen again?

Does a sightless pearl have seizures

about being strung along?

Is well meaning is it's own white cane

in the mouth of another?

a torment's mentor . . .

Is teaching other's

into their own subconscious,

to act out one's own disbeliefs?

Say my lines back to me

as if you own them,

as if you see through them

to the blind side of my self-doubt,

say them without the mud-filled gaps of regret,

say them from a place cellularly within, 

from beyond what I would mean.

I would want the truth out of what I say

even if the say shape comes out

as an affront to both of us.

I would want the words to fly

to where they feel flight is home.

I would want meaning strip searched

even to the brain stem of their calling out,

to have meaning show me

the plain-skies beyond

the prejudicial blue of experience.

I will nest with the orphans of speech

in their native tongue.

I want ‘spoken-out-louds’ 

gathered from the plain-skies

and woven into portals

of soul residence's migratory means.

We are all the sins of wing

against the collective of sky.

We are all the deeds of feathers

fallen off and fallen down.

Yet the whisper of wind condemns us all

with the gracefulness of being,

as we are flight

so also we are soul . . .