like litttle gears spinning for the first time in years
the joints in my fingers make tiny cricket creaks
as my hands introduce themselves to the face of the 30 keys before me.
the hungry black heartbeat flashes on the screen,
waiting to be chased, to birth her million little words –
free my mind:
echoes reach into the caverns of my mentality
you are still here they shout,
a gusting voice of confidence, knowingly,
scaring off the webs of stress that froze the reels in time.
one tape begins to flicker again.
images of past fantasies
stamped into a canvas
– there goes another, memories now
things i’ve dreamed before, life – experiences i’ve relived –
or painted anew –
dreams begin to bleed colour,
hands flying unthinkingly across the keys as my heart belts
the rhythm of the words
sing my song oh masterpieces thou art
my precious words
free my mind:
free my mind.
what is it that held them so captive?
what dried the ink of my pens by neglect?
what horror froze my hands from the romance of pen and paper?
and i am ripped back from the smiling bliss,
the freedom of oral exchange,
as memory of my reality returns to me in answer to the questions preceding.
although i wish it hit me like a brick on the head, worse,
it slams cold metal bars around the freedom of my mind,
pierces my hands, and
binds me to the crucifix that is my life…
An unshakable horror when art’s muse
is both inspiration and silencer.