...The Free Verse...
Controversy is the tongue of snakes...
If tonight they make my hair raise the dead. I should go walking with my fragments made whole, and explain myself without trial from hypocrites harboring my old ghosts.
Unjustified torments in disregard to whom I truly became after being shoveled. He loves me for this.
I can see them sideways.
Within me, I rise again.
And again and again.
Because, the grass here is peripheral when my love is meddled with.
I feel it in my earth; freeing the noose of tied voices.
So now, I say the grapevine burns in my hearth petrified roots into full bloom from ashes.
Conundrum of vividly colored antidotes against straight lines, is a holy transgression into intangible eyes that is not questionable.
My love and I see clearly.
For, the free verse scathing knobs is the hand of a woman scorned, adorning uncertainty with wisdom…
If you believe nothing else that my lover has proclaimed of our love, then believe this…
I heard you.
Even if you think I did not.
I can feel the pulsating notions of sharp edged echos to bludgeon our beliefs.
You must think we will not rise.
In union, my love and I will…
I have adorned pain with wisdom from the graves of my sunny eyes after being shoveled…
He truly loves me for this.
© Mimi Caneda Mata