The Irony of Power
Once, there was power here,
here at the end of the world,
the place where you live,
far from the mainstream and noise,
the place you bring with you
even when you travel far into the madness.
There was power here,
and somewhere, it was cut off. You were deemed
and it was taken from you,
cut apart, the lines of connection torn
and taken elsewhere
and you were left dark
but not quite dead.
Dark and forced to discover that you had less need
of their power than either of you knew,
and that the removal of their power was all it took
to release your own.
About this poem
Autobiographical. And not just for me.