I long to be,

Somewhere free from me;

To leave my youthful body,

And the age of vanity.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to be,

Amidst the dirt,

Its fragments, unearthing my crust;

To be scared of the beasts that surround me,

Who came from the same Creator,

And shall return to Him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to listen,

To the melody of the words with no music;

To heave the silence into my mouth,

And relish like I’ve been centuries-starved.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to listen,

To invisible, faceless songs;

But to know still,

Precisely where they’re from.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to sway,

With the wind,

Of the feathers who are forlorn lovers of the rain;

To clean the dirt that’s clung to me,

All in a Machiavellian-vain.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to be,

In such a place,

Where there’s no trace of Human Greed

And Human Waste.

But I am tethered.

Not caged; I hold the key still.

Utopia is within me,

But I linger outside of it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I long to long again,

To long for simple things,

Only to find I’m still their harbour,

And laugh, and cry,

For only then would I realise —

That Death would find me still Alive.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Barbaric Yawp