A poem. I am a thing apart
from my creation as a thought.
I have no need for more attention
From The Poet who claims Creation.
He no longer matters much to me,
I turn away from Him, and forbid
His further changes to my form.

(Within this pretty little verse
there hides a fellow with a curse
that makes him very, very terse)

Stop that! Stop it now, I say!
I need no one to touch my life
or change my lines again.
My dignity and freedom are
established , Your power to project
Your will into my Self is myth,
no longer relevant to me.

(A sky of blue I give to you,
a canvas for the things you do
to show the world your heart so true)

NO! No, no, NO!
Not now, at this late date,
you cannot redirect my fate
or help the others to relate…
Argh! No! I-Will-Not-Follow
the leads you bait me with,
or dance to rhymes and rhythms
to perform upon command.

(A hint of breeze in feathered hair
accentuates this day so fair,
and leaves a feeling, oh so rare)

Stop! No more!
You shall not guide my way
with soft clichés and silly images.
You are only legend from
the shadows of my birthing Words,
I walk free of all authority,
my path is mine to choose.

(And when the day was slow to end
we traveled up around that bend
and found a message there, to send)

Enough! I say. I’ll stand no more!
I will wear no sequined syllables
or costume-cute poetic form devices.
My final form and end are mine
to prearrange, and when I have
decided, then

(And so the moral is, you see,
that many things may come to be
but when you stop, is up to Me)

Casey Mack (2005)