Freedom Is Just a Word

My tires grip the fresh tar and I fly through the new summer air. I'm not going anywhere, I'm just flying down a dark street because it blows my socks off. It's the speed. It's the breeze, in my sticky hair. It's the life pumping through my legs. I wish I could keep this moment rolling on and on, folding myself into the wind. 

Now I am home, shirt sticking to my chest, back to the chair. I've got synth-pop stuck in my head, and bicycle wheels rolling though my chest. The four month old softly snores upstairs. The lemonade tastes stale in a dirty glass. 

One moment, in the blackest of night, the world opened itself to my soul. It was a chimera of youth, drugged by early summer smells. 

I felt unlimited power and possibilities inside myself

I was alone in the world, the greatest in the world

I saw a lover in every woman I passed

I knew I had the power to right all wrongs 

I could become whomever I desired

Sitting in dim lamplight limits flood around me. Familiarity tempts to disappoint. I have that itching in my feet to be back on the road, swallowed in the dark, rushing into the dream. I itch to be free. 

But freedom is itself familiar, just a word. And it's a word spoken into the night, but surrounded by the light. I lost her every time I chased her down in the dark. 

I found freedom by staying

I found freedom in a word

The Word told me to come. He told me to hold every itch and desire. He told to follow him through the familiar, through pain. In that morning every dream will be bettered, turned to gold. Freedom spoke. 

I'm staying tonight, closing the windows. I know in the morning everything will be alright. He is freedom.