I often wonder what
the taste of freedom is
I imagine its like a leap of faith
reaching out your finger
to touch the place
where the sea and the sky
Maybe its like holding a piece of moonlight
in the base of your palm
And drinking from it slowly
until you glow
in the darkness
Is it like the cries of your ancestors?
Like the howls of people long gone
Oppressed and worked to the bone
Only to watch you standing here
in a similar predicament?
Does it just go around and around
Like a dog chasing its tail
Like something without end…
Is it something impossible to grasp, this freedom?
Impossible to hold, to touch and taste
Impossible to convey in words
Other than a longing to run wild
and scream and cry at the top of your lungs
without a single thought
A single care
And sometimes I wish
I could be something else
Like a bird
Something more simple
Something that could fly
And sometimes I think I will never
from this mental prison.
I have put myself in
that feels like it would be so much harder
to break free from
than a real one
Because when everything appears to be an illusion
what more can I crave
what more could be freeing,
than reality itself?