Poem #13: Price of Freedom

Dusk at dawn

let’s me see my own face

for a change of scenery,

instead of those passing by,

faster than the speed of light

and coasting down the mountaintops,

while my body grow among the rocks at the bottom,

unable to flower.

I see myself in the valley,

small and child-like.

I see my drawn face and sunken eyes,

I see my dry hands and unsteady feet.

I see the shadows draw me closer

in an embrace meant for eternity

and I feel a scream build in my throat.

How can I live without that part of me?

I am only my soul,

floating above the atmosphere

among the pretty faces and smiles

that drift on,

never looking down and seeing me,

seeing my body as it lies broken.

The mountains rise to engulf me

but my soul rises above

and unintentionally I am

pulled from where I need to be,

away from the anguish on the ground.

The rocks collapse inward,

burying my body under the wreckage,

never to be seen again.

I weep for it

I feel for it

but still I am out in the clouds

unable to claim it.

This is the price of freedom.