Friday, April 29, 2005

Freedom

The bubble ascends
From inside the kettle.
The heat suffocating,
The light inviting.
Seeking freedom,
It rises,
Desiring a world
Beyond the circular confines
Of this ceramic coffin.
It floats
To an early salvation.
Its is a fleeting existence,
A forbidden freedom.
Its is a futile dream,
A forsaken death.

The kite tugs at the strings
That gave it height,
That gave it flight.
It sees a world
That the hands cannot.
It seeks a world
That the heart knows not.
Wants to fly, unguided,
Wants to mingle
With the clouds above,
And live those brief minutes
Before earth and death
And trampling feet
Catch up.
Its is a complicated existence,
A controlled freedom.
Its is a consuming dream,
A captivating death.

3 comments:

. : A : . said...

I really like the second part of your poem, particularly the beginning,

"The kite tugs at the strings
That gave it height,
That gave it flight.
It sees a world
That the hands cannot."

Well written.

Thanks for dropping by my blog and for your words. I like the writing here and will definitely be back! Look forward to seeing you back too.

:-)

musafir said...

@ . : A :

Thanks for dropping by - glad you appreciate my writing!

I'll definitely be coming back.

:)

. : A : . said...

Excellent. Look forward to having you over.