Trees on Bank

Free Flow

Free flow to the soul and I forgot to follow lazy rivers down paths with golden seams. How far have I gone without willing the pen to fly over seas of doubt, forests of sorrow, pastures of…

I’ll skip the biblical references. No need for irreconcilable differences during a reading of beliefs.

How far can I fly without starlight and the moon bright? Wings of silver casting shadows of white on the ground in the moon lit night…

Can’t I wander for the sake of it? For the joy of it? For the freedom I find in my mind? Leave the doubt behind and cry and love and pain and everything wonderful in the world and beyond. And if I write what I feel and express myself with an eloquent tongue, a rude tongue, a crude tongue and true tongue, then where will I go? To the hall of scholars, to the dusty courtrooms and holler, “Hear I Am!” Or will I find myself with a pen and pad writing what I think is sad and wrong and not doing what I can to make myself a better man?

Words are mine, but with them I just wrap my life in self-important prose and flowery words about a rose and in the end no one knows that I weep these words onto the page and sadly walk from my own stage.