THE PRISON OF PITY

When music forgets its bedding is poetry
And clay pots forget they come from the earth
When wool forgets it comes from trees
And houses forget they stand on earth
When characters forget they come from a script
And clouds forget they hang in the air
The sky, the earth, books, trees and scripts
…will still be what they’re
Ladders without which flaunters
…could never be seen

II
So dance to enhanced rhythms
…and be bored at the sound of naked words
Drink from clay pots
…and detest the sight of wet clay
Buy expensive cotton wool
…and cut down their trees calling them nuisances
Live in houses and court disdain for the earth
Bask in the clicks on the stages of fame
…ignoring scripts which built your characters
Pray the sound of need never finds you
For that run to the source might make you see
The importance of that which was and now isn’t
…the importance of that which is but act couldn’t
…the importance of that which works but screams “don’t”
When it happens,
…regret will never bail your deeds of the past
…from the prison of pity
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 1, 2021