I Was Asked

Ah these bars seem familiar Yet the horizon beyond them feels sickeningly alien. I do know know what I would do in those fields that lie out beyond me. I have all the space my imagination can provide. In them are battle field coloured red with the falling blood. Metal strikes flesh, steel melts against the raging flames that envelop steel leviathans, as they are made to surrender beneath the constant barrage of cannons. Creatures with masks of light with elongated limbs flick blades from their forearms, severing troops from their limbs. Shadowed mercenaries fling themselves between the fray with steel wire and spikes, leading from one victim to another. A sweet metallic taste hangs in the mist. No my friends, I could find no solace in those open field. I would be far to tempted to make of them a stage. But oh what a pantomime I would play upon them.

I would tell the the tails of loss, fire and melting. I would write songs in the screams, that would shiver the flesh till the skin would pull itself free in search of respite. Oh, I Can hear them now as I dream erect and searching myself for a means to exalt the notion. The give of flesh beneath the suggestion of a blade, subtle at first, but at first resistance, fierce and hungry. Tell me, what do the meadows offer me. What wipers of the fleeting butterfly can sooth as the bubbling jugular can. 

There is so much a tool can tell you of your intentions with those you are given the space to explore yourself through. Sunsets my come in passing splendor, slipping through the fingers of time, so subtle that they fade Swift into a gallery of time passing. Sharp steel, hard wood, and a strong arm feeds intent with unorthodox prowess and capacity. What then shall I label as freedom. Even between four walls, my flesh is my own, my mind solace. I have dreams enough to keep me company. We are given one frame, like a warrior, one weapon. Keep it loaded, make it shard, barb it and let it take you past any obstacle that may inflict itself upon you. Then You can be nothing but free.

We own only what we have paid for in blood, sorrow, ours or others. Tell me I can go anywhere, but you put boundaries to keep you people safe. There, out in the world lie many barriers, erected through force of finance. The chance of cost and availability chain those who cling to their ideals. Show them a moment of chaos, let them lick the nature of all that supersedes them, and the loss of rational will drive them insane. Relinquish these petty needs. Submit, and feel those desires crystallize in your  mind until they embrace you like a long lost lover.  Tell me you cannot feel the lifting of fabric and the smell of secrets, disallowed by formality. Give what they may, take what you can. Their are so few allowances. Who are we to die in regret.

I have no wings, so why would I long for the open skies as the swallows and falcons do. They sky is purple with our desire to be more than our bodies allow. yet we look to those beside us and us them to forgive our indiscretions, as though they have not build the very ground upon which they walk, or the roves beneath which they sleep. I only keep enjoy the luxury of inhaling because no one has been able to take that capacity from me. Tell me. Am I not free. Tell Me, are you.