Wanda L. Harrell

ALL WORK IS COPYRIGHT PROTECTED

This poem was penned a few days after the completion of my first novel, OUT OF THE BOX, and is included in that volume.

SONG OF FLIGHT © 1999 Wanda L. Harrell

A song of freedom, from her soul, she sings
As she casually flutters about, cautiously spreading her wings
Gliding on gentle little breezes, she surveys all that is around
Ever careful and watchful to shun the cold, hard ground
To find her destiny, she finally takes flight
For she is determined to reach unexplored heights
With wings she has waited to use for far too long
She goes skyward...ever more beautiful is her song
Everything she sees is through eyes brand new
As she flies higher, the more glorious is her view
Far beneath her are the valleys from whence she fled
Lofty vistas she now sees...her wings are outspread
She observes grand rivers rushing to unite with the sea
As she marvels at the sensation of finally being free
Above everything she goes...up, up, upward...ever so high
She is astonished she finally knows how it feels to truly fly
With grace and resolve, she lifts her wings and begins to soar
Singing a sweeter song than has ever been heard before.

The large suitcase before me is old, tattered and torn.
It's filled to overflowing—its edges are clearly worn,
And carefully packed within it are uniquely personal contents,
Some of which are logical—some no longer make sense.
But, all are the things of life that have weighed me down,
Unnecessary baggage I have continued to carry around.
Within are rigid bonds that imprisoned my spirit from being free;
Emotional scars from angry words aimed toward me;
Immeasurable tears that have streamed from my eyes;
A smiling facemask frequently worn as a disguise;
Tarnished love for one I thought I couldn't live without;
Insecurities about who I am—layer upon layer of self-doubt;
Disappointments formed when goals were not met;
Myriad bits of bitterness my heart had somehow kept;
Lies that I told, and untruths that were told about me;
Once beautiful dreams never realized that are now unsightly;
Loneliness, and a heart that has many times been broken;
Kind, loving thoughts I had, but left them unspoken;
Anger and other things that are hideously ugly;
Biases and intolerances, long ago taught to me;
Resentment that I secretly concealed deep down inside;
A collection of regrets, shame, frustration and selfish pride;
Pangs of needless guilt placed there for things I did not do,
O' so many things that prevented my heart from being pure and true.
The time has now come to lock it all up and throw away the key,
And put that suitcase in a place where I can no longer see
All that I, in my human foolishness, was not willing to release,
The baggage restraining me from finding precious inner peace.

Allow me the freedom to be truthful to my own being.
Ask me not to love another because you think I should,
Causing me to be unfaithful to my own heart.
Ask me not to do the same things you do with your life,
Rendering me helpless and untrue to my own existence.
Ask me not to emulate the decisions you've made in your life,
Causing me to be traitorous to my personal potential.
Allow me the freedom to be truthful to my own being.
As well intentioned as you may be to protect me,
The path to hell is paved with stones of good intentions.
If you confine me tightly within your grasp,
My spirit will hold you forever responsible.
Allow me the independence to spread my wings,
Permitting my own soul to experience solo flight.
Allow me the freedom to be truthful to my own being.

A multitude of crayons are scattered out upon the earth,
worrying not which is
black, white, yellow, red or brown,
for each is ever proud of its particular hue
each unique and individually beautiful.
These crayons are eager to unite in their reason for being,
fulfilling their Creator's purpose,
so they intermingle
one with the other,
contributing to the beauty of the overall design
without jealousy of each other
or prejudice of heart
each making their mark
be it wide or slender
finding their individual and collective destiny
in the coloring book of life
on the yet to be touched pages of tomorrow.

From the palette of the rainbow
reds, confident or angry
blues, serene or sad
yellows, happy or afraid
greens, calm or jealous
all upon the pallid canvas of my soul
this kaleidescope of colors unite
either by circumstance or design
creating an individual portrait
with broad and narrow strokes
from singular hues and unique blends
stirring, swirling within
mixing, mingling
a profusion of living tones
ever fluid and changing
until the paints are dried
with my last breath of life
and my portrait is
at last
complete

Countless are the ribbons wild, the ribbons tame
Of known colors, and some colors without even a name
Intricately they are woven, around and through my heart
Hopelessly unable to distinguish where they conclude or start
Some are so entangled that is is impossible to know
Which of them is new and which of them is old
To the integrity of my heart, each ribbon provides a clue
For, intertwined with the worthy ones of a brilliant hue
Are the ones faded, not with age, but with shame
So it is for these ribbons only I who can lay claim
Revealing the true colors of my not so perfect heart
Oh, these ribbons wild, these ribbons tame
These ribbons of worth, these ribbons of shame

A multitude of round ivory faces,
Safely exist in square light places,
High upon lofty, carved ivory thrones,
To throw out hard, white marble stones.

A multitude of round ebony faces,
Safely exist in square dark places,
High upon lofty, carved ebony thrones,
To throw out hard, black marble stones.

Innumerable round ivory and ebony faces,
Safely live in their united light and dark places,
High upon lofty, blended ebony and ivory thrones,
To toss flower petals, instead of colored marble stones.