The Rising

Mountain hiker in front of sunset

Each day it’s there
The words buried deep inside
Fighting to come out

To form the description of your being
Write the song of your soul
Upon the lips of those who speak you

Each day it’s there
Dying to get out
Climbing, clawing from the depths

Always reaching for the light
You may choose to bury it
Or hide beneath the piles of scars

Bruised and broken bones
Healed grotesquely
Covered by layers of superficial beauty

You may wish not to share
But each day it pushes against your resistance
Each year the pressure builds

As you stretch ever thinner
Will you reveal before you break
Or will you allow yourself to shatter

Into a confetti parade of you,
Your beauty and your anger
Raining down on passersby

As if that’s your only choice
And anyway, they don’t seem to mind
Yet afterward they brush you off

And you’re left there in the street
Forgotten and discarded
Or rather will you let the rising take form

Release at your own will
Form the words of your own song
Released to the hearts of man

©SpiritLed 2015

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