Becoming Free Bound Up

Theories about our doings
base motivation on factual
and knowable scaffolding
around a phenomenal castle
as high as the sky.

I saw my wife at the head
of a phalanx of about ten
followers fanning out
behind her running
with grand intention.

Those behind her lacked
clarity of goal so
they ran for the leader
and her half-spoken sincere
assurance of success.

Around a school on a grassy
playground-battlefield
toward the fray opposite
in direction and history
with great vague purpose

ahead around the building
approached an alternative
twin phalanx also led
by my wife egging on
her equally raggedy band.

They galloped at each other
swerving not, neither
questioning the crazy wisdom
of the respective wives at
the two rushing apexes.

This being a dream –
my dream – I saw through
the apparently clashing but
momentous and conflictless
potential for magic.

Straight at each other
with ascendant speed
by word and dedicated
deed my wife – my two
wives – flung themselves

and not only themselves
but the driven believers
behind her running feral
frenzied and worshipful
enacting futurity.

Two flocks of stars
rising in uncolliding
head-on reckless merger
off the grassy ground
climbing the threaded sky.

Did it make sense before
I woke up and described
how a doubled abandon
between similar opposites
can engender such glory?

Does it make sense after
housing the strange story
in lines and verses like a
narrative poem or scripture
although it was neither?

This being a dream –
my dream – I allowed for
the mess to be perfect
the transcendance to follow
and be followed eyes shut

not drowsily or dreamily
but with sweet fearful
fervor looking for my
lookalike incarnate and
destructively polar face.

For days I was aware
at every corner I turned
at every blade of grass trod
at every school or castle
I passed wondering where

I would or could encounter
my chance or how I might
take flight with my own
horde of doppelganged-up
devout ghosts of self.

I would’ve asked my wife
but I knew she would say
I should not make a logical
mockery of the plain
answer I’d been given.

So I gave up but remembered
how she led and embraced
how she attacked and flew
free a part of everyone
and maybe a part of me.

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About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in love, poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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