Saddled up and ready to ride,
Reins to pull, but no feet to guide
Kind of like a lump on a log,
Heart on the table and head in a fog
Wood splintered, buckles worn
Rope frayed, leather torn
Drinking in a colorful breeze,
Slipping into autumn’s ease
Open country, endless skies
One must soar until he dies
It calls out to all,
wildly waving from the bridge,
a welcome ashore.
Extricate the feathers that matt your life.
Dry them in the sunlight of your heart,
and allow them to form the words of freedom.
When your words grow wings, your soul will take flight.
When you hit the sky, fly hard and far.
Soar high above your nesting place,
but never regret tangles that built a life.
Rolling, gurgling, splash.
Water trickles through the rocks.
Waves wash over me
Running, falling, crash.
Current flows and never stops,
Cost of being free.
Swift and Impetuous
Never running empty
Ravaging the banks
And flooding the valleys
Watermark and scattered debris,
The only visible evidence of indiscretion
Souls deluged by the hurricane
Of an insatiable man, resting his case on freedom,
Will build jetties around their hearts
Howling into obscurity,
they scrounge for scraps.
If nothing is leftover,
they rip the flesh from your bones.
They devour you by bits and pieces
until they mimic your very being.
Their own truths flicker for recognition
in the dark valleys of their souls.
As they draw your smile upon their faces
and trample in your well worn, dusty boots,
you will hear the growls of suffocated reality
that wrestle to escape in every breath.
Though they continue to sniff you out
and run on the tail of your dreams,
you need not lick the wounds of freedom.
Skeletons of lost souls
never see the light of day.
Your truths ride in on the rising sun
and etch the canyon walls
like ancient secrets.