David Christopher Barfield


Link to home pageLink to current issueLink to back issuesLink to information about the magazineLink to submission guidelinesSend email to misfitmagazine.net


Scroll 1

Born beneath burden, the child saw the world before the wound.
He sang not to be heard, but to survive —
a whisper growing roots in silence.
Not chosen by crowns but by consequence,
he rose where the soil broke first.
He learned the language of restraint,
the rhythm of hunger,
the holiness of breath.
His name was not power —
it was the echo of a people
learning to rise without being invited.
In each rejection, a blueprint.
In each fall, a rising.


 

Scroll 2

He stepped forward — not to escape the fire,
but to carry its warmth without being consumed.
The path carved itself in the shape of refusal:
refusal to bow, to blame, to vanish.
He did not demand light. He remembered it.
Each stone he touched recalled its origin.
Each tear he shed watered what would outlive him.
He did not walk for vengeance. He walked to awaken memory.
And memory became a mirror.


 

Scroll 3

Born of fracture, but not to fracture —
the child awakens within the wound.
He does not shout.
He listens.
And in that listening, the sky parts.
No throne, no crown, no sword.
Only breath.
Only light.
Only the memory of water
falling gently over ancient stone.
He walks not to conquer
but to remember.
Each step — a chord of earth,
each breath — the rhythm of a promise
spoken before language was ever carved.
He does not break the world.
He opens it.
The silence he carries
is louder than banners.
His path is not upward — it spirals.
Through ash, through laughter,
through generations unnamed,
he ascends not above man
but into him —
a flame not burning
but blooming.
He is not the answer.
He is the asking.
He is not the gate.
He is the wind that moves it open.
The child becomes the script.
The script becomes the sky.
The sky reflects the sacred question:
What if we are meant for more than surviving?
In the hush between heartbeats,
a new chord begins.
Not from gods.
From us.
From the soil.
From the light that never forgot our names.

 

David Christopher Barfield is a poet, visionary, and storyteller whose life journey—marked by hardship, resilience, and spiritual clarity—has become the foundation for a body of work devoted to transformation. His writing weaves trauma and transcendence, fusing sacred geometry, personal truth, and a powerful call for collective healing. Through the “Scrolls,” he offers a living poetic architecture rooted in humility, light, and remembrance.