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Tayler Whitehead

A plague of these four walls confines me now –
within my mind I host lockdowns alone.
If I were stranded lost in salted sea,
there could not be a greater silence known.

The Greater Light is soaking through the dark
while I am searching for a way to see.
A step outside, a trembling step, is all
it takes for my tightening chest to ease.

My rambling takes me further from my cell
and closer to Edenic bliss with haste.
The concrete jungle gives way finally
to soft soil underfoot with keen embrace.

As I work through the yellowed grass with care,
my gaze is seized by valleys framed by bursts
of blushing orchids and meand’ring streams,
all racing down to reach the river first.

I chase the river’s rushing melody
until I reach nirvana. Flares of light
reflect into my shielded eyes as I
scan and catch sight of shifting wings in flight.

To bask in these sweet symphonies of trills
and chatter can remove aches from the past,
restore me with a sense of deity;
I feast upon ambrosia now, at last.

Returning haltingly to those four walls,
my pensive heart holds memories by rote:
the sweeping sun, the whistling winds and all
of nature’s songs that form the antidote.