A journey from pain to freedom, this poem shows forgiveness as a fire that burns away hatred and reshapes the soul into strength, peace, and renewal.
GAINING FREEDOM THROUGH FORGIVENESS
GAINING FREEDOM THROUGH FORGIVENESS
Author: Callum Featherstone
Wandering Lost: Through My Window’s Secret Pane
And, so, I wander, lost;
A requiem of frost
glazed & cracked
on my window’s secret pane.
I tried to cut my loss
in woods — glass-eyed, cross.
But, the frozen plaque
on my see-through heart
it stayed.
I was not the same after you left.
So, I wander, lost, like, uncaught breath.
I exhaled mouthed mist. Upon crystal apertures. To scrawl your name and face. But, no matter the words I scribed, or, tears I stopped & shied. The Condensation’s dots: below, atop — crying i’s, still do not reveal your gaze.
So, I wander, lost. In branchly moss. Until, my private pane, defrosts. Hoping one day for a view:
to the otherside, across,
to feel, just once more, your;
glanced embrace, again.
© poormansdreams
Edith’s Perseids
The name Edith, of Old English origin, means “prosperous in war” or “rich in battle”. It combines the elements “ead,” meaning “wealth” or “prosperity,” and “gyth,” meaning “strife” or “war”.
Perseid in British English
(ˈpɜːsɪɪd ) noun. any member of a meteor shower occurring annually around August 12th, appearing to radiate from a point in the constellation Perseus and derived from comet Swift-Tuttle. Word origin.
I saw you in the afterglow,
of the tailed swishes,
across a Gloaming’s sky.
I caught you in my roaming eye,
like, failed wishes;
reborn
From their own crashes; grown.
For twenty years,
you have shined on high.
Casting the heavens bright,
from the wealth,
of burning flames, on August nights.
That rage, like; war, within your name.
I witness their fractured patterns.
Thinking of you — whole.
And, reminisce, on the fire in your soul.
There, I visit your scattered ashes.
Scorching; dark, white, like, coal.
Unlimited in death,
as you were in life;
Warm, I adorn, your bravely essence, bold.
© poormansdreams
Starvation
Now, here, I forever wait.
On the horseback cusp, late.
Of a wish’s, yet, to come, truth.
An outlier,
fallen under hoof.
Broken, misspoken.
Eating other’s empty words.
But, I, green, unstill,
have black-sanguine dreams.
In my tossed,
turned,
undying sleep.
Of misfortune returning me,
unto this bitter Earth.
Where peace can’t take root,
only; rumble,
brief,
under warmonger’s boot.
© poormansdreams
Daughter
embers demark old scars
carved
on oak soaked root’s battled heart
bark sharp piercing battles hard
never lost to a first win-
ning, brimming breath
aft submerged
then coming up
for air
loose from
the teethy grip
of grinning death
rock bottom cut me low
sore, sodden, against my row
r-oarful like broken paddles woe
when I reached out
from the drunken
drizzle’s drought
my dreams were all sunken
fried until my thoughts of;
You
holding my adult finger
in your tiny hand first-
born again
removing any, all and every doubt
in your beam my light for life
imbued
© poormansdreams
Our Time, Took.
Did you miss me,
when you lost me,
in misty pockets,
called, Our Time?
I fumbled ’round,
in them, costly.
With child’s hands;
empty.
Like, the Frost, unhugged.
After never reading,
the “Love from Dad”,
in birthday cards,
you didn’t send me.
A blank, illegitimate page.
I wished, Our Time, to bless my age.
With the Father, from the concept,
I saw, jealous-eyed, at school gates.
But, alas, your selfish ways,
took you; captive, to your grave.
Unknowing of the upset,
catalytic, to my purloined haze.
You stole from me a future,
where the superheroes, good,
take from the Miserly & Moocher.
Their green gave out by Robin Hood.
So, now, misty pockets by the Trent,
and nobbled Oaks in Sherwood,
hold me close in My Time spent;
taking steps; We never took.
© poormansdreams
Branched Afree
I feel at home
among the trees.
And their omnipotence;
branched afree.
There’s flourishment in
their fawns and parakeets.
That creates to grow away;
greyed infinity.
A jump for life; cyclically.
Like, immortal leaves,
that fall froze in frost,
then, are flung by spring.
They, unashamedly,
leap upon sunny treen.
In uncaught, gasping vistas.
Not, lone, soiled views.
When seeds’ pure persistence,
reach up, in their air; for me and you.
Those strong roots
entwine and twister.
To come on home;
for precious scions;
to live and breathe
and bloom on through.
© poormansdreams
Effacing Kaleidoscope
I wear an effacing
kaleidoscope
disguised with colours
shapes and patterns
on a visage coyly laced in
fabric misanthrope
with unpulled woollies
under disregarded eyeful shards
sawn and shattered.
I loathe the lens
that I’m purviewed through
and the friends
I can’t allude to
unpleasant is the ocean’s end
of the spyglass
I boo-hoo through
why did I try to pretend?
I yearn for the courage to perform
an optical iconoclast
and burn those judge’s visions scorned
like tropical bombs ablast
that carry and deliver me discerned
on currach-ed wings to peaceful shores.
© poormansdreams
Step into Purple
A lonesome notion
dancing from my tongue
cross an awestruck ocean
where turquoise tears come from.
Solitude is draining
isolation feels like wrath
scarlet sweat a-raining
along a damson path.
Indigo and violet hues
make vanished footprints smile
when vivid reds and blues
coalesce for a while.
When we come together
to form a colour circle
our strides will call to heather
on stepping into purple.
© poormansdreams
Frozen Clocks
A picture frame on a wall.
Beckons; past-tenses,
with, iced, wooden sprawl.
Fingers point, in, stiffness,
to, stillness. A frozen clock.
Affixed in time.
Whilst, snow-capped, mood-lit mounts,
lift, to, chill, set; digits, mouths and lenses.
A memory, encapsulated,
for, a nostalgic blizzard’s seige.
Had, held, on, snowballed; smiling faces.
Which, roll, bolder evocation, upon release.
Who, knew, preserved eyes,
hands and hairs, could speak?
Of, simpler; age, designs,
or, a widow’s peak?
Knowing, not matters, to our; frozen clocks.
Grown; ever-after, in, houred emotions, oft.
poorman'sdreams 