Soul Flight (Just another ridiculously long poem)

Soul Flight

Trapped, strapped, I'm stuck

and sick. Slowly sinking into

nothing,

drowning, dying, confined

in this body I no longer recognize.

Losing every sense of me

I can't remain. Fly or die

Oh please, let me fly,

my soul begs of me.

Let me go, let me soar

let me try, flying, bursting out

in an array of prisms

I feel me scratching at my skin

giving me the only fight I have left

My last chance to

get

free...

So I let me go,

my soul scatters into shards.

I mold together again in the sky,

like a stained glass mirage, and I fly,

Fly away from me.

Me, the being I can no longer stand

Free, free, I'm finally free

And the air is sweet nectar.

I inhale it, this newfound infatuation,

seducing me as it goes whistling past

in the most harmonious melody.

No limits, it sings

I listen

I listen, fearless of what may be

I go, anywhere I feel.

I feel, I feel again.

The air drifts me slowly and

dips me in, and

I taste the waters of the world,

cool and crisp to my parched soul;

splashing upon my face as I

follow the lazy maze of the snaking river,

licking my lips clean of the salty blue spray

off the roaring sea, cheering me on.

I float on,

Reaching out to feel the Earth, warm and gentle

I grasp at it, desperate to remember every groove

Of mountain range, every cratered scar, every crevice,

Every soft caress of a wheat field, each smooth graze

of a city line, every piece of hard grime

From an impoverished village- I want it all

under my fingertips, replacing my prints,

Working their way into my skin.

I hear life resonate in my ear. I hear

the ecstasy of youths and the sorrows of the aged.

I listen harder, perhaps it was the

weariness of youths, the vigor of the ages.

I hear the samba in the Brazilian forests,

mingling with the heartbeat of an African sahara.

I hear the subtle serenity of silence

in the pieces of land still left unspoiled.

I hear the secrets that no ear should hear,

the hushed tone of a mother,

the whispers of a prayer, I hear

my own body, crying out to me;

come back, come back, I want to see.

I recall my self-

now soul, be at peace

as I collect these fragments of me.

They mould back into me

piece by piece, glowing softly,

Holding this treasure,

Cradling it deep within, my own gift to me

The true sensation

Of what freedom may be.