Stephanie Arwen Lynch

Sometimes urges--primal screams of myself if you will
Yank at me like restless children who tug my hand
Come with us. Play with us. Run with us. Live please.
Should I seek these winsome toddler thoughts--follow?
Should I stay planted in my known domesticated self
Would the journey to the wilding that is within
Strain my sanity. Snap me like a twig. Break me down?
Pull me closer to that edge with fantasies of hope
With no map in hand I must let that muse guide me
Will she pull me over the bone-shattering cliff?
Will she drown me in that soul-sucking sea?
There in the distance I can hear those cries
Wailing, laughing, crying, shouting, screaming
Those restless children. Those primal screams of me.