I am a Poetess of Freedom.
This is just a morning like another,
Yet this is the Morning of Mornings.
Eating toast is so elegant when you're free,
Like the queen of a lonely island,
Reigning over rocks and feathers.
Today, and forever, there is nothing to perfect.
There is nothing to fix
Because nothing was ever broken.
I will go along, rowing my boat,
Whistling a tune that's lost in the wind.
Or wandering in the long prairie grass,
Listening to their hushing song,
Stillness within every step.
If you have nothing to run away from,
How can you ever be trapped?
Thus they gently walk this world,
The Poets of Freedom.
No comments:
Post a Comment