where the wild world could be all mine
in the Firth of Forth to be one of the two
to be raised as an experiment by a deaf mute
so James IV could find the original language
the speech of the angels
as they spoke to G-d
O to be one of the untouched, to be brought up
four miles from what he’d call civilized
where the welt-woodlands cleanse the sins
of the citified, where no man would break in-
to the jewel-filled vault of me
cracked like a can from the fridge
when he’s pissed itching to do what he could
O to be somewhere anywhere safe and good
where nothing would be assigned my fault
for what should be adored as alive
where no man would insist I exist
only to please him and many others alike
how they turn us all inside out with their names
for what in their nature they never could tame
as if they can blame us and distance from shame
O if only I could have been raised freely
where butterflies sleep in their sacred caves
until emerging on their own in their sacred time
O to have been a child on the isle of Inchkeith
where the wild world might have been mine
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog