a drop of rain

The steps you take are big

where mine are small,

the steps I take are soft

while yours make imprints.

For now it seems that I am lazy

as you wipe sweat off your brow,

try to understand my empathy

for oak trees rooted to the ground,

and take heed in the soil, though I may

not make a sound, a drop of rain

breathing life, the only way I know how.

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The Sincerity of Our Chains.

Unlocked.

A brief wave of empathy.

A surge of relief.

Icy cold goosebumps.

Cover to cover.

Nearly 600 pages like chains.

And now, Freedom?

I beg to differ, you see…

The shackles leave marks,

indeed.

Deep reddish grooves on ankles, on wrists.

So tender, the flesh.

They are much more cozy than I see elsewhere.

They are much more honest, you see…

I leave them off a short while.

To make a sandwich.  To use the loo.  To make chump change.

But know I must put them back on again.

Because freedom isn’t frolicking aimless as a loon.

Freedom is trusting the sincerity of our chains.

Knowingly, locked.