"the pen is mightier than the sword"
but "actions speak louder than words
I tried "beating around the bush"
even though my hands held two birds

i've played "the devil's advocate"
and i tried "sitting on the fence"
heard it "straight from the horse's mouth"
the horse made "horse sense"

i'm "letting the cat out of the bag"
i can't "let sleeping dogs lie"
you "barked up the wrong tree"
we will never see "eye to eye"

is there "a method to my madness"?
"your guess is as good as mine"
i'm listening to "the voice of reason"
the one "i heard through the grape vine"

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

In the morning I wake, eyes opened in a foreign place
I don’t know these wall or these sills
Nor this bed I find myself in
These windows are, thee only familiar thing
Wide doors, dark passage wall
My mind seems to be running
I’m too afraid to touch the marble floors
Looking at my reflection head tilted down
This place is all to foreign to me
The curtains hang from ceiling to ground
Covered in what looks like circus clowns
To my left a candle lit, to brightly beam
To the right a door, that leads to my dismay
I feel the breeze run through my hair
Waking every sleeping, pore
My throat is dry, my mind confused
Where am I, wait who am I
Have these four walls, taking away my identity
For some faint reason I cannot remember
WHO I AM
I feel lost, isolated and even dead
Well perhaps this is hell at its best
For heaven seemed warmer, brighter and blessed
This is a nightmare - as I move to get off the bed
In total silence I slid to the edge, my face
Tiled towards these marble shinning floors
Where my reflection, reflects right back
A look of fear, anxiety and total disarray
As my feet touches the floor I feel,
Shivers run up my spine to my neck
The ground is cold and horrid too
Of all the colours, grey is what you choose
You must have, had a dull and boring life too
WHO AM I

Steel grey streets
Wool grey sky
White-gold tree,
It's fall branches high
Silver beads cascade
Ink puddles collide
Crystal rivers parade
As though the white-gold cried

The past unfurls
With silver memories
Like messy cloth,
Tarnished or frayed;
Each life woven with yours
And so many paths crossing
Twining over and under
A stitch dropped, or added
Shadowed or shining
And all being woven
With the thread you are spinning,
Spinning,


Spun

it starts to grow cold
night unwraps stars
and amber moons,
the stream sings
with its silver-throated joys
and dreams of the skies
with their beautiful
dark
sorrows.

Do you remember the night
I translated a dream for you?

You agreed and later that night
we began to put your pain into perspective

You're sending me letters
signed, sealed and delivered
from your new home

I'm saving all your letters
where only longing lingers
we've not known each other long
but waves of your scent
are already mapped on my mind

In your stories you write of
an explosion in your chest
bats burst from hibernation
forcing your ribs to break
your skin ripping apart

You tell me of a whistling in your chest
a candles been blown out
smoke rising from a darkened hollow cave

The emptiness feeds off flesh
you're scratching at your skin
the remains tipping into your chest

It's filling-
filling every day

And that is when you wake
choking, gasping for air

Your letters end as abruptly
as your night terrors
bad dreams leaving you breathless
waking up drenched in sweat

Your last lines of this weeks letter read;
When I lift my tired body
from the bed
the bedroom light illuminates
my skin
I see I'm real
I see I've not clawed my flesh
no track marks from my fears

We're sat together with
the letters all telling
the same story, again and again
you voicing your dreams,
dreams spawning nightmares

Do you remember I was going to
translate these dreams for you?

How the bats are actually butterflies
how butterflies are subjected to
a caged darkness before the light
How the whistling in your chest
is fertile ground for growth
How the suffocating filling
is the abundance of love
this world can give us
if,
if we only subject a change
to our perceptions

Love and fear cannot exist
together within us
with fear is suffering
with love is healing.

Do you remember the night
I translated a dream for you?

The night we set fire to the letters
imagining the crimping paper
as the disintegration of
each and every
fear.


© Sia Jane