I stare straight ahead a smile touching my cheeks.
I can feel the heat.
My toes in the sand.
This is what it means to be free.
I am on a beach
The sky is bright and clear.
Whispers around me
A breeze caressing skin.
This is what it means to be free.
A testimony to the heaven
A will to feel again
A hope in ones heart
To be one with the sins
If I could only choose
a moment, just a moment, in time,
To last for an eternity or more
This would be the one.
I turn,
Another blink away.
The towering giants
The trembling foliage
The curving branches.
An atmosphere of clamor
A chaotic orchestra of chirps
The rough feel of the bark
The soft ruffle of the carpet
This is what it means to be free.
Moments
Glimpses
Unsettling from the present
Grounding me
To what it is that matters.
These clips are flawed
Mere seconds in time.
The grasp on which,
Is quickly lost.
No value in the present
Shackles down to my ankles
Stuck in place
There is no freedom here.
My silence to them is a treasure
As my words can be weapons;
My obedience is a tool to them
A means to an end.
My guilt is not a question.
I know this will be robbed from me.
Soon I will be encaged.
There is no freedom here.
I question the paintings,
They've put on the wall.
In this dreadful chamber,
Where fates are decided.
Are they here to let us taste once more
The liberties of this world?
Could their intention really be
Oh so benign?
I'd much rather have it,
That they like to see your yearning.
When you look unto,
These courtroom paintings
There is no freedom here.
YOU ARE READING
Reminiscent: A Collection
Short StoryHi, I'm a writer that tends to work on bigger writing projects, but occasionally I get little things out. This is a place for me to share those little tidbits of writing and I also tend to share the scripts for my speeches too. I hope you enjoy thes...
