errata
With fury untold and scorn profound,
Strip the fetters that had worn me down.
As a distant shadow looms above,
To test a freedom that boasts newfound.
Mockingbird, dost thou sing to my soul?
Thou hast marked me like none before.
To think I could command thy silence
Was the greatest ruse foretold.
Oh hurt reflective,
Looping round and round—
A pedant versed in recursion
Adds geometrically for twice the crown.
Heartstrings tuned to familiar sound;
Just one more turn would confirm the fray.
With a haunt that speaks in eloquence,
Thou summon’st echoes of ghosts astray.
Although no words may ever suffice
To grant the requiem that is truly thine,
I smother the chains that once held me dear,
Forever close to these errata of mine.