A Song to Change the World


These poems were contributed by guest writer Cassia Dawn.




A Song to change the World

I tried to write a song, about what’s wrong with everyone; sonnet of a hypocrite

Here’s the guideline for the divine, I opine, so you can know the line

I created an anthem for all the pious, the first to buy it, last to apply it

Our good deeds on pedestals high, blind leading blind, to our sacred shrine

There’s nothing holy about the creation, my recitation of commandments, verbatim,

But the world just wouldn’t listen, my condition for continuation of lavation

So I cut and grated, hated, blaming you for my ultimatum

my heart just wouldn’t hear, the still voice, sincere, a proclamation, not of damnation

There is pride before fall, so it will be to all wearing masks at the ball- their fate

To die by the sword, a weapon which has torn, many such victims before them

I was not immune, my body broken and strewn by gate, of the law that I prate

Touted high, now I’m bleeding, left to die, it is now I, I condemn 

The ground bitter, tainted with blood of mangled sinner, in justice I have been served

O the perplexity, hands so gently lift me, the eyes of traitor meet the Savior’s grace-unreserved

Cassia Winegar © all rights reserved.

Inspiration behind the poem: I was taking a poetry class and we were discussing Sonnets. I used rhymezone.com and a thesaurus to create the weave of similar sounds. I am a musician primarily, so this was a fun project. I wrote it from the perspective of someone who feels they are on the moral high ground, only to find they also need compassion/forgiveness.  


I Remember When:

The logs were put into not so neat stacks. Knots notched out where there once was branch.

My bright light up pink and white tennis shoes wandered all over those logs. They were my playmates, every time we made the 3 hour journey to Grandpa’s house. Grandpa was a woodworker, a Marine, an old soul, who made the best huckleberry pancakes I’ve ever had. He spend many hours in that sawmill- with the sad, old corrugated siding. My 5 year old mind only cared for the round, wooden companions outside. I remember many summer days, while the sun was blazing and the adults conversing- my cousins and I would play army, jumping out to land the perfect shot, then ducking down and hiding behind our log guardians. They were not really dead.

Many hours we spent with the splintered and peeling bark. We had jumping contests, climbing contests, follow the leader contests. On top of those logs, I could see the whole world.

Loud opinionated voices of squabbling children mixed with the humming and buzzing sounds of the saw. It was as normal as anything to me. When I was older, the smell of fresh cut wood mingled with exhaust as we drove our 4-wheelers around those not-so-neat stacks. Round and round they made our track. On occasions where the accelerator was ever so slightly faster than our ability to turn- I could almost here the logs laughing at us as we bumped into them. Solid as they were, they did not mind. The bigger I got, the smaller the stacks became.   The more birthdays I had, grandpa had the same.   He is not here now, and neither are they… but I still have the coffee table grandpa made: to remind me of those days. 

Cassia Winegar © all rights reserved.

Inspiration behind the poem: My grandpa was a woodworker. He owned a small sawmill and when I would go to visit him, I would play on the stacks of logs with my cousins. It was an adventure every time we spent time on those logs. 


The Death of my Identity:

I overdosed today

In a chaotic bog of clamoring thoughts

I overdosed today

I fell asleep today

Whispered hatred and lies were my lullabies

I became the lions prey

I blacked out in rage

Fought, cut and bled ’til I could no more

I overdosed this way

I overdosed today

I could have sworn I was a savior

The God to whom I pray

I overdosed today

Stuck in death throes from stones thrown

Swept in the current of what they say

I overdosed today

And I didn’t want to die

But I didn’t try to fight

I became the lions prey

Cassia Winegar © all rights reserved.

Inspiration behind the poem: In the poetry class I took at the local college, we were studying the Villanelle form of poetry. Villanelles repeat the first and last lines until the end and there is a lot of rhyming. The idea behind this poem came on a day when I was struggling with negative thoughts. I felt like if I continued to think that way I would be overwhelmed. I started to realize that so many times, I have “overdosed,” on the negative opinions of others(perceived or real.) I had become a victim to my own mindset. 


~Cassia Dawn

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