I am the slave
Of my goddess of freedom
I do just as she says,
Her hymns I hum,
Every day and the end of it,
I believe in every word she needs,
Bound in the smoldering reed,
Leaves ashes as every breath bleeds.
Her pagan clay of a body,
Stands for the lust of fancy.
Her fingernails still smell
Of the snatched flesh fantasy.
Where are you pretty child?
In the nests of laughter
Is your smile trite?
Will you ask yourself?
When are you ready to fly?
Are there any answers which you owe
From me and them?
Will love happen for once
Or till the end?
There are quiet whispers I see
Which drip from the trees,
And they ask me,
Will you try to be?
Someone you never tried to be.
Was there a single moment,
Where love was hopelessly free?
