I want to feel, like the wind rushing through a canyon bed feels, like I am unbroken.

Yearning for freedom, the kind worth death, as I spill pains and dreams upon the floor.
Where is the garden gate, and will it be locked if ever I come there?
Locked to the stiff necked, sad song liars, the painted ones whose color seeps onyx stain.
Rain saturates the screaming earth, and in the drowning soil, exposes the true roots.
We are woven likewise, we who grip at the core, the ever seeking, same as saplings crying to the sky, with branch of arm stretching and clawing upward.
Then came the roar of floodwater we call Truth sweeping away every hope we had made in the muddy ground full of soft caresses.
When you were a child did you see with wide eyes the world downtown, parading with stainless steel insides and confetti eyes?
Now I long to see once more with wild wonder, to pawn this knowledge and buy back my unknowing days,
to run once more with flushed red cheeks in the deep drifts of the Colorado Winter...
and know nothing of the war...
with eyes of a dream you never fall in...
mirrors to purity..
to see pure. .