The Divided Self (Poetry)

Deep in the cool dark, the rich earth claims my beginning
before the shoot that stretched to breathe above ground
and later — leaves unfurling in the soft air swinging
brave green fingers — the sigh of winds all around.

My lower self held rooted firm in soil’s safe keeping
this secret side every worm and beetle knows
I share their sightless world — mole-blind through tunnels creeping
while each rising sap sensation comes and goes...

So anchored to the land and no chance of a release
one half buried, I wave long at freedom’s sky
my life so divided — sunlight is my source of peace
and the breeze that soothes as summer passes by.

While my roots hold true to nature, still I yearn for flight
migrating birds tell such thrilling tales and boast
of journeys I imagine to lands far out of sight
across oceans to some wild exotic coast.

I am their archive — storied true in wood — ring by ring
records hoarded in the grain, yet I am dumb
though absorbing each note heard, I can repeat nothing
just a silent witness sworn in by the sun.

Torn so many ways — my heart and wholeness ever-split
earth my mother, yet my love’s the flirting air
I strain to touch the clouded moon — shyly drawn to it
her thin silver tangles twigs in Winter’s hair.

Here I stand — my limbs uplifted to a Van Gogh night
a-swirl with stars — my hushed canopy in thrall
with dull roots unconscious — mindless of this magic light
chains cast adrift... and no part of me at all.