freedom
gnawing
at my
gut...
a rat
gnawing
on
the
ropes...
that
my fears
use
to
bind
me...
freedom, the oldest
primeval urge,
the grunting of
the darkness
as light opens
the door!
freedom...
the
raw
heart
beating...
in the
hands
of the
priest...
as the body
is flung from
the cliff...
the sound a rose
makes when it blooms!
Eric Cockrell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gnawing-freedom/
