rope the wind
i was born to be free
i don't fit the mold
not a girl not a boy
not young yet not old
i live life in freefall
i follow my gut
my morals are iffy
still, i'm hardly a slut
i drive way too fast
play music too loud
but i notice a flower
and see god in a cloud
my temper is quick
it rises like fire
who sets me alight
starts their own funeral pyre
i'm as sharp as a razor
i'm arrogant, wild
i can be unpleasant
especially when riled
if you tell me to do it
i probably won't
instructions annoy me
while requests really don't
i know how to love
how to ride the high wind
i know darkness and light
i'm good and i've sinned
if you need to define me
you are welcome to try
but you can't rope the wind
it belongs to the sky
All materials Copyright © 2004-2008 by Eryll Oellermann
3 comments:
Glad to be of inspiration, pardner. I've read it four times, though, and can't quite place the seed that became this fine poem.
Maybe you were talking to Starr Ann.
Quite a poem ducky-commensurate with your native brilliance!
hey margo
"and they say you can't rope the wind" ...was your comment on the mind nomadic. loved the sound of those words and the poem grew out of that!
what can i say ... my mind works in it's own weird way ;-)
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