Friday, February 24, 2017

Touring upon dreamscapes.

I see chains, this sad misunderstood object, oft do people shun them. A tyrant's tool, a dictator's apparatus. Oh does the world fear this symbol of slavery.

Yet I see its uses, bond upon bond does each support each to strength. They are tools, no more; the old ways have died with its previous masters.

I see chains upon a frame, is it a symbol of oppression? No, this is my instrument to liberation, a mechanical marvel with an organic touch.

And so I pull these chains through its paces, while they push me past my usual threshold. I stay in place, yet they bring me to new spaces.

Up towards the hills that I might gaze the sun set upon the valleys below. To the winding paths of yesteryear, a glimpse of many childhood memories.

Down to the slopes that I might set my eyes upon the new moon above. To the road that finally leads to my love.

I see chains, but I feel free.