A Window, True and Real

freedom poem
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The paper is too white,
the pen – unwilling,
the horizon’s out of sight,
my hand is trembling,

my heart is locked
between walls and dust,
this door I cannot trust,

All I’ve got left
is a window, true and real,
vast as a windy prairie,

bright as thousand moons,
warm and soft as lover’s smile,
it gives and takes your breath awhile.

It gave me wings,
I’m an Eagle, free and strong.
It showed me dreams,
I can see beyond.
It whispered many things,
I can live again!



photograph by Abigail Keenan


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