I can only hold on
so long,
like slips of
paper in your hand.
I am not chained
down to you or
this life;
I am
freedom.
I'll never grow the
wings of a
bird or butterfly,
or be above this
world like clouds
in the sky,
but I am not
sedentary.
I am not a
tree, but I am
grounded.
I'll stay until I
uproot or am
uprooted, taking with
me the seasons and
their grace,
the apple blossoms behind
my ears,
and my withered
arms from too
harsh a winter.
I am imagination
and spirit,
I am essence.
I am beyond this
world in
eyes and
heart, in the
scars and
hairs that
cover my body;
I am the remains
of humanity,
where humanity
itself lies within my
ashes.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
I can only hold on
so long,
like slips of
paper in your hand.
I am not chained
down to you or
this life;
I am
freedom.
I'll never grow the
wings of a
bird or butterfly,
or be above this
world like clouds
in the sky,
but I am not
sedentary.
I am not a
tree, but I am
grounded.
I'll stay until I
uproot or am
uprooted, taking with
me the seasons and
their grace,
the apple blossoms behind
my ears,
and my withered
arms from too
harsh a winter.
I am imagination
and spirit,
I am essence.
I am beyond this
world in
eyes and
heart, in the
scars and
hairs that
cover my body;
I am the remains
of humanity,
where humanity
itself lies within my
ashes.
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