Death of an Unborn Legend.

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The memories intertwine,

Like the branches of my equinox wreath.

Though I have lived a life of fullness,
Documentation of it cannot be found.

Every Scar,

Every Tear,

Every screaming word
Falls from my biography

Like the leaves of the trees

 

My words melt into the background

Of a dying society.

My life’s work:

A story that will never be heard;

Words that will never be expressed:

Scattered beneath the folds of my societal robes.

 

These burning labels mute me:

For mothers don’t speak like that:

Lovers don’t speak at all

Students only speak when spoken to

Yet inside I am burning:
Dying to convey ancient messages;

Stories of a fallen angel.

 

Broken and Tattered,

Yet glowing with godly grace:

On a journey to teach, to lead

To devour and feed.

Darkness and Light,

Constantly crashing,

Pulling me down

 

Would I be heard,

If I had traveled a different path?

Would I be heard

If I were born of royal love?

Would I be heard,

If I weren’t one of the 47% of useless souls,

Clamoring on the brink of apocalyptic fall?

 

 

The validity of my words will not be defined by society

And as I shed my second skin,

Strength wells inside me.

Out of the deafening silence, I emerge:

A firebird with a tongue like a blade,

And the strength of soul

To save a dying race

 

With change on the horizon,

I answer the call

And blaze toward enlightened society

With the ferocity of a thousand demons.

I must shatter every label,

Understand every crisis,

Jump over every boundary,

And dodge ever bullet.

 

For sane opinion in an insane society

Will become the death of an unborn legend.

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