Freedom
Walking alone in the desert, I am.
My only friends are the bones of the old.
Feet on sands of oceans from which they came.
Blood of wars and tears from the mothers hold
Onto babes; plenty, but gone just the same.
And just as them, my horizons don't bode
Too well for my fate, but I still move on
For myself and for others who wish me not gone.

It's too late to think any differently.
Vultures circling above would love fresh meat.
They know from past, I think suspiciously,
Man's blood is delicious.  Even in heat
I am not afraid. Instead I am free
To go anywhere, my trail is unbeat.
I move any direction I see fit.
And knowing this freedom pleases me for a bit.

Comments:
 
Trenchtownrock   Trenchtownrock wrote
on 8/24/2009 11:42:47 AM
Got to love freedom of the mind and spirit...you drove home the point well in this piece...keep up the good work.

JumpsCurbs
Poetry
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writing JumpsCurbs
I want to hear everyone's comments, good and bad (but always constructive), on my poetry. Any and all advice is greatly appreciated! No need to sugar coat it.
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