Homeward

Choose life, and capture a glimpse of freedom. Such fervor,

a reigning heart: it just bounces freely. I love this art, and

mourn this loss. There are four groves: heart, mind, and

spirit, even soul. We trek the gaps, and reap the fruits, and

where is paradise? it’s yonder the lights. We’re running

freely, and dying freely, and laughing freely; and we

awake. Such adventure, and such mental freedom, and

tacit yearning, but never enough, forever a portal. What

is this freedom, ever chained and heaving wind? It’s a

trapdoor, and we fall to return, but oh the fall, and oh the

return. A heart’s aflame, and thunderstruck, and bouncing

waves—a mind discerns, and evermore—an arc and glint,

and evermore—a beating drum. I sense the groves—are set

to turn, and mystic rites—a light to yearn.