Skip to main content

Hidden Lessons

If being free begins with the freedom to speak|

Let my words travel across transmissions|

Across wires connected from land to land flowing through streams|

The freedom that sparks a speech|

Arise the spirit of those before|

Instilled in the words connecting patterns into one single message|

That may be interpreted into thousands|

Evolving from one single question|

Convey the meaning|

And in it you find your own reflection|

It means nothing if you don't see through the letters|

It means everything when you perceive the hidden lessons|

Comments

  1. I particularly enjoy how this poem makes that great connection and importance between the concept of freedom and the ability to speak. Language has always been the first and ultimate expression of the freedom of thought. Although words can be constrained and rules can be applied to writing, speech and words can also be like a river, flowing..developing..with hidden tides and waves to learn from when we swim in it. This is why, I think, you love poetry :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Couldn't have said it better myself...but I have to be honest. I don't read poetry(or much of it). I love writing, but I have not read a poetry book in ages. I'm more into history and biographies, that sort of things. But I sure do love writing it :D

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Inside Your Hands

Parables fumble in unprepared hands| Deprived of gifts bestowed to thee| As humans we seek shelter beneath a tree| When our feet become weak| And our needs extend beyond our means| As rain pours| It cleanses our soul| Dormant ideas start to grow| Yet we turn a blind eye| To what's before our sight| Taking the easy way| Shunning plights| Fighting is not a physical ordeal| It's more of a rejection to extol the almighty rule| Exploring alternatives to fables disguised as facts| Letters shredded in half| Eulogies embedded on a golden calf| The story was written for you to digest| The ending inside your hands| Inside your thoughts is the rest|

Spoken Word

A word once spoke is only heard through an opening in a cracked wall| Shrunk in the balance| Within strings moving from the wind's hold| Escaping push| Reinforced from strength of vibrations from a secluded silence|