Freedom

February 4, 2009
By Meaghan Liddell BRONZE, NewWoodstock, New York
Meaghan Liddell BRONZE, NewWoodstock, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Freedom

Fill my lungs with the
Purest oxygen a breath has ever known.
Smells of sweat, of dirt, of grass,
Of horse hair in the summer.
Smells like freedom.
Surrounded by nothing but the
Greenest grass known to Earth,
The kind that's free to grow
Up higher than my knees,
The kind that dances to the inaudible
Melodies of the wind.
I hum the song my grandmother used to sing
To me to put me to sleep, back before the
Complexity that comes with getting older.
That same song that is branded into my heart,
I hum that song. The only tempo kept
Here is the rhythm of chomping grass.
The only interruption
Here is coming from a swishing tail
To keep flies away.
Song's over; time to go home.
If only a picture could capture the peace
That is emitted from this place.
But I correct myself; for this place is branded
Within me like my grandmother's sweet bedtime song.
A deeper brand that eyes will never see;
A brand upon my soul.
A brand that allows me to carry this place with me, always.
Until I return.
Give her a pat, turn her towards home.
My sun-streaked hair free to flow in the wind,
I tangle my hands in her mane and dig in my heels.
Give her a click and we fly.
We fly, faster than the fastest car.
We fly, sadly, from our own little corner of the world.
We fly; we fly, from a place called Freedom.


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