The trees call out to me in their whimsical fashion,
But I am buried in a soil too rich to traverse.
My ankles are locked in place.
My mouth has been sewn shut by the beaks of robins.
I cannot return the trees' bellows.
Yet I manipulate my body,
Move it in ways as to send signals.
The earth captures them,
She understands them.
Understands what I want;
what I need.
Mother understands my desires that I have not yet taken the time to explore.
She can grant me these things-
These things that I do not yet know.
She will fulfill me,
I can feel it in her glow.
She cools my anxious heart with her winds and she carries my troubled soul through the mountains,
across the sea.
She calms my spirit,
dances with it over her sparkling waters.
My compassionate mother,
She loves me.
Understands me.
Moves my body for me, in ways he's never moved before.
But that stops nothing.
I strangely understand the motions,
I grasp their meanings.
I am fluent in an art in which I have had no teaching.
I hold tight to the peace that the message brings me.
In my inflection, I am aware.
I realize I've never been silenced,
Not really.
The birds hadn't stolen my voice,
They merely borrowed it long enough to end my arrogance.
Kept me quiet enough so that I could hear the things my mother whispered.
I realize I've never been trapped,
Not really.
The soil was only holding me still,
Keeping me in place to allow her to show me things that I'd never taken care to absorb.