Handles of Freedom


A fray, a strand, a clinging leaf, a handle.

What the cost of freedom?

Do I hang to all the is given to me, as though, it were my last breath?

Do I become everything expected of me?

Though it makes my movement less.

Years before my age, the distance of choice, further and further out of reach.

I am as free today…as I will ever be.

I dangle from fresh, baby pine.

I spin my web as I choose.

I do not need to enter the roads in which I have been led.

One thought on “Handles of Freedom

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.