The real Me, that’s not as powerless in speech, submissively wind up, passively accepting the World’s opinion, as I see fit to agree,
to keep my peace.
This Me is released in private,
as chased thoughts are gathered and carried by the wind’s tease.
As a feather light breeze,
to a mid Summer’s need, kisses my over spoken lips, and closes my eyes,
allowing it’s gripping attention to my gyrating hip’s,
wildly enchanted by my own musical, released scent.
A patented railroad arm, came to mind, it would come down, to stop and track friendenemy’s, with personal needs, to cross me, taken in by my losses, portraying fair weathered friend’s abilities, at my cost.
As my identity is fragrant upon a Linden tilia tree, spreading out my branches, as my roots are rooted in dust as its tragic story’s, is beneath and flowing freely pass me.
For in its editted need to escape,
it’ll keep me free of any formed race.
Known only as Dark skinned Red bone, an entry not formed by a form, as no box gets marked for its place.
While my heart seeks it peace, it’s caption, it’s retribution, its need to lead.
The breeze becomes more wickedly paced, as I embrace only the taste of awakening, and living as free as Me,
releasing my hypnotic sweet fragrance and energies into every Season’s enchanted breeze.
Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.