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.
In it’s own spontaneous, uninhibited, flying, wild style, free, uninterrupted, journeying alone for miles.
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 surrounded, submerged and unable to taste my 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,
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 nocturnal pride,
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