PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Years have gone by, long years with summers
and winters, spring and fall in between. I hear
the echo of lost illusions firmly placed upon
the wandering feet that walk the roads of freedom.

Freedom: over-used word that represents
the soft murmuring of desire.
everything and everyone wishes
to be free of something.
The trapped cries out to be
forgiven, the guilty demand to
be redeemed. In passion the
moment of freedom begins.

And so now I am free. This I tell myself as
I behold the lofty cliffs of the future. Once
again I think back over the years of my life.
I know that what I was stays buried inside,
and what I am to be remains unformed.
Amongst graves and bodies I settle for
the way of life, the manner of surrender.

Surrender: oft-spoken word that means
we give in to patterns of despair
that have dangled themselves
like raindrops in front of our
faces. Clad in second-hand
clothes I reflect the sensations
of defeat. It is easier to comply
than to grow. Easier to die
than to allow myself to live.

And so I am alive. I sense the opening of
the mind that owes its power to only one
source of beginning. Asleep I can tap into
the mental mysteries that have surrounded
me since as long as I can remember. And
a sense of myself can begin, a sense of what
I used to be and what I will be. Years have
gone by, they have rolled along like thunder
from a displeased cloud. Years will go by
and in them I will continue to travel waiting
for some sort of an answer to arrive.

I am alive, and sometimes that is enough.