Created like clear running water

Either joining up to marry a greater body

Or going still and murky in marshy mires.

Designed to age like a spider,

Which is to say well

But with a web that tells a story.

My tongue intentionally sits

Uncomfortably in its fractured saddle

Amidst broken teeth and words

Not yet sharpened.

Destined to wrestle with myself

And the one strand of DNA

That must be made of razor wire.

The anthem of the damned

Cries out loudly

“Freedom!”

Freedom to wander

And freedom to ponder

Freedom of choice and care of consequence.

Is freedom the best desire to have?

Not better to serve a good master

Than serve only myself?

I answer this question

In the negative to find I am

A bird that would fly

But grounded by weighty bones,

Having not had the lead yet hollowed out

By painful but saving tools.

By design I am the battlefield

Between Hells Hallowed Howl

And Heavens Terrible Goodness.

Both at times whispering,

Both at times shouthing,

And both at all times

Vying for my soul.

By design I trust in Goodness

Though it does not shimmer

Though it dances less entrancingly,

For its promise to pull out razor wire

And extract lead from my bones.

Though the Howl dances beautifully

Shines brilliantly and sings convincingly,

How to trust something

That only promises my desires

As though there is nothing greater?

By design,

Is a question I can not answer.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “By Design.”