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Free
How does the lovely lark,
Flying above me in the dark,
See his destination in the clouds,
With out falling to the ground ?
For I well know that if I flew,
I’d fall forever in the cloud of you.
Lost to all known thoughts and fears,
A empty lingerer lying here,
Exempt of life, exposed to all,
Death, my prize for the hopeless fall.
So how can the lovely lark fly so free?
For he is not in love - like me.
For I am doomed to lick the dust
I was not made to fly, Still, I MUST.
And taste the virtue of being loved
Unlike the lark up above.
Who flies lovely, yet unawares,
That I have captured him in my stare;
He is focused on his prize in the clouds,
He will not succumb, gaze down,
And look at the Angel, fallen, but free;
For he is not in love - like me.
Though my fate is doomed to die,
In my heart, I’ve learned to fly.
So lost in love I’ll forever be,
For I have found my prize, my “Free.”
