‘Who am I?'
by Candice Mathis AKA AreithePeridotDragon
Whispers creeping, crawling, clawing,
crimson gleaming, a luscious bow.
Silver glinting, gleaming, glowing,
across the fields that we sow.
Who am I that I feel this sorrow?
Pain hidden behind smiles and kindness shown,
to strangers and acquaintances, to friend and foe.
A heart that seems strong, yet fragile as brittle stone.
Boughs are bending, bowing, breaking,
sound of thy heart, aching and sore.
Silence singing, sobbing, shrieking,
perhaps my name could be Lenore?
But no. No Queen am I, with Regal bearing
and Honor Sworn to guard my tomb forever more.
No tear-trail paths leading to memorandums carved,
nor songs of a life proudly lived like the days of yore.
Hands clenching, carving, clawing,
against walls that only exist in the mind.
Body failing, falling, flailing,
unable to rip away the ties that bind.
Who am I that I feel this rage?
Recollecting painful words meant to cripple and tame.
Desiring to throw off a yoke made of unreasonable expectations,
one made to feel unreasonable, loathing, shame.
Sand grating, grinding, grafting,
walking empty shores clothed only in viyella.
Existence wondering, winding, wandering,
mayhaps one might name me Morella?
But no. Identity lingers only in the memories
and fills those left behind with heartache and woe.
No new body would I return to,
nor would I leave the halls of an empty chateau.
Mind seeking, searching, scrutinizing,
longing to learn things both new and old.
Soul rising, reaching, reaping,
of world’s wisdom both hopeful and cold.
Who am I to feel any hope?
And yet a hand is extended to those who are lost, yet loyal.
Who were betrayed, yet still yearn for devotion.
A hand that pulls one up and then rewards one for their toil.
Spirit teaching, tutoring, training,
gaining knowledge and escaping the foul ceropegia.
Personage calming, collecting, composing.
Could I now be known as Ligeia?
Still I say no. Knowledge is neither divine,
nor forbidden. It is found in academic community.
Tearing away the blinders of callousness.
It is ignorance turned intelligence that finds opportunity.
So in the end, the question remains; Who am I?
I, who have gone through metamorphosis, transformation and transfiguration?
Who am I who has grown, broken free of the collar?
That rose above perceived station, false foundation and contrived narration?
Who am I?
Who am I?
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