When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”
And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece, and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”
And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?
And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting?
And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?
That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?
When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?
And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?
© SpiritLed 2014