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Posts Tagged ‘Freedom’

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If I were animal
what would I be?
Perhaps sexy, horny
beast, roaming free.
Hearing nature’s wild,
breathing forestry.
Exploring the inner child,
so let me be.

Benjamin Thomas

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A heart freed
from entanglement,
yields the best crop.

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Comatose Freedom

Liberty is lost
in the home of the brave
For she longer stands
but there she lays
comatose
likely bound for the grave
unresponsive
she sadly displays
a broken hope
slain with freedom’s blood
hemorrhaged all out
and lost to the mud
seeping deep
into the land
of the free
the earth opens up
but only reluctantly
tastes ruined blood
absorbs her final plea

—for peace

© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas

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The garden earth, that holds perfect blossom, possesses a temporal beauty.
Her grass withers, her flowers fall off.
Can tulip blossom endure beyond it’s appointed season?
Can the arresstive color of rose withstand its own wilt?
Can it’s mother soil, which holds it’s petaled blood be free of guilt?
The gravity of death presumes the victory, siphons every breath, and shall win the fall with valor.
Can the seeking child be free from smiting hand?
Can perfectionist be free of self-inflicted wound, and the unattainable bar of her high demand?
What can free the crook from the thorn of his envy and his perpetual want?
What can liberate a human being demonically violated by an illicit drug?
That soon possesses the fiber of their enticed soul, dampens their spirit,  and pervades the chemistry of their physical body unto ruin.
What can free men from the iron cage of their pride? What can  starve it of it’s wild hunger?  Until it wanes into an impotent corpse. Then there would be no more corruption spotted on the garden earth. 
What can free men from the malicious  appetite of greed?
What else do we really need?
What can liberate from the pain of boredom and monotony of human life?
Shall we be saved from complaint, endless worry, trivial strives?
Can we be freed from the brutality of aging? And the gradual wilt of  awesome blossom?
Shall we be freed from the sting of death, and the ruthless power of the grave?

Much liberty is needed. Much freedom is craved. Where there is liberty their is freedom.

(2 cor. 3:17)

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The King’s dungeon
Maybe dark, dingy, capacious
With booming impenetrable doors

Although loathsome,
In the most deplorably wicked
Of conditions

We must remember
Humble keys,
However small in stature,
Open the doors of freedom.

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Vaunted mysteries
Lie still within hidden vaults

Its lonely halls
Swirl with dust
Choke  in the throat
Of each darkened cellar
Together they desparately crave a stranger
A teller

A timely visit of nimble wind
To lead astray a train of vanquished foes
Beyond their boundary
with rapturous limbs
Simple notions
Capturous whims

Into splendid fresh prairies sown
Shadowed growth
Silent roots

Unearthed green
Unto vibrant blossoms
Manifestly known

Set free in motion

Set forth in liberation

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Impartial Ray
Stay with me awhile
Spread your wings
And cover me
Don’t let me go

Just fly with me
And lift me away
Far from this wicked weight
Don’t let me fall heavy
Prey to my way

Separate me from this hungry shadow
Liberate
Shake it free

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