poetry

Wayward Free-Spirit

Sharpest Perception a Road Less Traveled

I must reintroduce myself,

to my free spirit.

It gets beside itself.

For it will stand by me,

Flee outside me, but casually pretend, that it lives somewhere else.

On it’s own, spontaneous, uninhibited, flying, a wild child , free, uninterrupted, journeying alone for miles, away from Me.

Like an Albatross or an Owl

over oceans in the skies night,

waving at me mockingly,

while soaring in flight.

Like it fears, my flight is stunted

I’m too down to earth, and grounded, feet firmly planted, possibly in quicksand to it, unable to taste my own actual worth.

I believe my Free-Spirit forgets,

that it should fret,

like a puppet,

I pull it’s strings.

Outside of me, its spontaneity,

is very clearly, also my thing.

I may appear to just stand and plan, but that Albatrosses longest wingspan, is in flight to my dreams.

While the Owl inside, exhibits my…

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