Freedom

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Freedom

I ride the horse by the shore when I have time.

I urge him to run fast

as the wind.

Our hair flows behind us

As we crash against the waves

And my brain is made a swirl of nothing.

I ask myself at times what my horse thinks.

Am I just a speck of dust in his eyes?

 

Freedom is the highest thing.

As I look into his eyes, I know he has it.

Although I hold his reins,

he can run wild at any moment.

And when he is at rest,

in his eyes is freedom.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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Louiza’s Poems (26)

Title Comments
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Disappeared 0
Blistering Lips 0
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Sorry 0
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Freedom 0
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