The Soul Uncaged, Not From Its Fist of Ribs

— 2 — 
The soul uncaged, not from its fist of ribs,
But risen forth from reason, fears nothing more — 
Not height’s ascension nor the silvered sudden
Of the drumming and the coming of the storm,
Nor the beckoning back of the voices
That below us we have left — these are the least,
Next to the beast itself that fears the beast.

It is the wild within us that has built
The bars — the hunger that has set the having
Out of reach. Dream into day, as through
The forest of insatiate sensation,
Hooved and horned, we pipe our perilous song.
O hear, and answer — frolic, weep and feed,
When our worst freedoms from themselves are freed.

— Nicholas Korn

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