the art of life

freedom
is not words spoken
alone

it is sang out loud
in the silence that is accepted
across a bridge, dividing
knowing what needs demanding
a rule unbroken
a law of life.

but those sunk in silence
deaf to the marvelous sound
will tell you, whisper, shout:
spring does not exist
fall is an advertisement
summer a ludicrous myth
but winter the truth that has come

not snow-sparkling white
children laughing during snowball fights
but wet and grey
full of frostbite
that’s the one
that is the silence that has come

until one, two, three and more
sing of the sun
bright in the skies
flowers below, shining
trees like seas
green and grassy
life bursting in all colours
rejoicing
second to none.

…

she laughs when i say
i am (not: shall be) myself
i have a place within
that is sacred, me

and there is that moment
the question, hope, wonder:
how long until that laughter fades?

until understanding pervades
that each and all
have their holy place
beating under their ribs
smooth on their skin?

freedom is not a request
it never was a favour
it is necessary
the natural state of all things
but no one said it was easy

like canvas waiting
clay cool in one’s hands
the art of life is
living
loving
being
free
.