Sometimes its nature is dark
Textures of grime and slithering
Inviting the tenderness of strain
But Oh the thrill and feel,
None tingles the same
Fretful warmth within, the heart loud in silence
The will is sound but the beat calls louder…
It calls… Tender in timbre….
Cold… very cold…
Warm rhythms engulf my heart…
Love and Death are not very different
Light taps, like tip-toe steps
Beats of life struggle against
The tender walls of my breast;
Freedom – shall I know?
On light winds, It flights Afar
To caress, a tender breast…
Pain I sense,
But in death too, do we find love
Through the misty cold I spy,
An ember, a hue of fire for two
To waft to life,
Tingly warmth it is
Freedom, shall we know?
They are not so different
Freedom – where are you?
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