Freedoms Symphony

The poet sat down to think and write

Pulses in a glowing bubble of insight

Warmth drifts from the distant fireplace

Sinister shadows flee from his face

 

Now here alone in the dark and quiet

Unusually free from his mental riot

He sips again from an ancient drink

Lifts his pen and dips it into the ink

 

And he writes...

 

"Catastrophic blunders foil the Hero depress'd

 Yesteryears Might swallowed in the Great Volcano

 Pauperized blood aeons from an unknown Crest

 Trampled, disappear'd remains; only a Bandeau

 Left behind. Inquiries flood the Villages thought

 The Gods, had they retrieved him with their Hands?

 His pursuit strong, his purpose only twisted in a knot

 The Hero must live on, maybe banished to the sands

 Nay, was he but shelter'd, dwelling in a Lions cave

 Breathing only Darkness, starving in self-punishment

 When his Dark became Light he ceas'd being a slave

 Emerg'd into His world glowing Natural temperament

 'the Gods', said he 'are nowhere to be seen between here and the sky'

 'the only God', he says, 'each of us can see, the only God is the 'I'"

 

The poet relaxes, lets his mind take a rest

Trials of recent have been a good test

He sips his drink and stands to stretch

Whistling trees outside beg him to fetch

 

Upon a tree, a bush, and a stream

Tears, they well, he lets out a scream

On a rock he sits staring just near the sun

Knows he will never be stopped - 

     - and will never be done

 

A person free from other people

Worships life under his own steeple

Inidividual even amongst company

Dance freely to Freedom's symphony