Autonomous Poem by r james sterzinger

Autonomous

I am an autonomous region
in me have settled
bad dreams, ghosts
from the past,
things made of metal,
perfect as they are:
some shiny as a freshly skinned knee
of a child falling off a bicycle

I am an autonomous region
somehow alone,
yet controlled by you.
I am not ready to be free
to love or not,
to cry or not,
to be alone in the wind the rain
the snow
on holidays,
or not.

I am an autonomous region
God walks through me
looking for pretty stones
in the shape of bluebird eggs
in the shape of teardrops
in the shape of you
when you lived here
before you took your boat
and went to your own region
where I cannot find you
to this day.