Enigma is my mother 4/25/16

Born with a Stradivarius between my hips.

No one told me about this instrument in question.

Embarrassed myself by awakening this cathedral

finding a sound current where my body was all ears.

Pray for past-life remembrance to anchor me

while my private thinking provides no direct answers.

My unbridled motor was idling before I knew this carriage.

When in need, paradox is my favorite deflection defense,

but still amped behind where stoic display is my disguise.

You will know nothing of this if you are only hear-listening

for my lava appears molten, as it was hard to alight.

I have needs for willowy, forest blush,

amidst sky-bound tremors, and bellows of reverence.

Emotionally for me, the want outweighed the yearning,

and I could not translate the fusion from the con.

There was a rock and a hard place as if for comfort

yet burdened with excess fuel every day to burn,

in need of explosive watercolors that streamed tears of joy.

I had visions and needed brushes with death that bristled,

for I want panther, with 4 paws over me, third eye ablaze.

The power that passes through me is on fire.

Can I admit, self-guardianship will be the death of me?

Find me another place and time, for this is my recovery.     

I lick my wounds with amnesia and confoundedness,

knowing that they put my genitals on their altar

and asked the sun to set me free on their behalf.

My rage is a spiritual aspect of worth I treasure

for my vision is compassion as united hearts of all are one.

I wander as anonymous yet still aglow, unidentified.

Some day, a white crane with a deep blue tear will come

and all of my wonder will be restored without refrain . . .