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Waiting for Courage
So strong amid the warm blanket
of like-minded comforters.
Courageous independence whipped in jello,
sliding on the easy silver spoon of lazy thought
and peer perceptions...
flushed on the bitter palate of wormy fruit.
All the claims mean nothing: vacant, vapid
proclamations when conformity rises thicker than
mountain cat air. Control is menacing,
a slum lord on ghetto streets,
sometimes disguised in good intentions
where it becomes just another iron shackle,
and more vicious in its silky form,
binding you inside yourself.
To breathe is to embrace the sky,
to lean back, to bare your breast
not supposing anything...
to protest to all who would speak for you.
ã 2002 Steve Edwards
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