Tyranny

sitting on my shoulder day after day
morning upon morning, pecking still before the sunrise
the clock chimes three, four, sometimes five
ready to pounce upon a daily consciousness
and scratch a twice broken record of resilience

yet I realize we all wake up with the same tyrant
I may be yours, we are each others, I am mine
the oppressor is inevitable, just as the oppressed
and to escape such an intrinsic dance is as hollow
as sitting frozen against a curtain of celestial fields

and convincingly; I sit in a somber silence and remind myself...
to pet the tyrant with devotion, for it too is a pure captivating silk
gracefully black, magnificently rare and as precious as all fabrics
tied in exquisite packages unveiling enchantments of existence
adored and serene, like a rare rose rising from the underworld

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

Written 09/14/2010 03:00 am est
Photo 09/15/2010 09:10 am est