liberty

There was a boy who wrote out everything
to avoid finding the truth.

the long-winded and long-winding way
to the end.

where it all began,
where it all happened,
where it all will be.

I wanted it desperately,
and it wanted to be free.

I yanked deep,
but it did not release.

it was there.
I felt it.
I anchored what I thought I could,
pulled down the hatches,
and pushed off rapidly from shore,
hoping for a tug.

but it did not unleash.

I knew it was lodged,
but it did not give.

strength? it was also buried.
but slowly,
I felt it rise, perhaps because
even the sun finds the energy each morning
and even the cranes flap their wings over the peaks
and even the salmon swim upstream spawning
and even the whispers manage to make themselves heard.

I found the ability because there was no hope otherwise.

I rationalised the losses,
tossed the provisions,
released what I thought was the linchpin
and gave way to what I believed would be the solution.

and in that gravity,
in that solemnity,
in that liberation,
in that delivery,

I found the truth really does
set us free.