What is freedom? When we cross our
hairs with the final stages of love, do we
know what it was which made us feel at
all, as human beings.

When we take our own time and
tame these projections, that we fill into
the shines of animals, and our hearts grow
with the untainted of ties.

What is it, that makes us love at all?

When I look into her eyes, and all is known
to last days crying, shimmer joy and crafted
openings. Some time the flows come arisen on
their own, who are we to know?

Sometimes I know that only being alone is
the way of assuring I know the certain
way to love. And now this is time to see
that when I am with another, my love nor freedom

has withered with a shore line of misery.


© September 18 2013