Love isn’t Free
It was at the end of a decade – escaped high school and the world was a mess.
Bodies packed inside of planes, draped with the American Flag:
Bodies which were covered with beads, sweat and the smell of grass.
You and I were different, Sunday rides on dirt roads, investigating dark forbidden caverns, and touching cold stone –miles below the surface of our earth.
Pretending not to love –you, I was unsure of love – or you? Your thoughts squeezed life from me, as tears fell – you reached out, but never understood.
On the knoll, near a carven – yet I found my own to conceal myself in stone, as your lips were branches of a tree, your finger’s pebbles, and my leg’s carried me away, as I ran from you – you see, you could not handle fear.
Did I, once love you? Thinking to the days of beads and smoke, in that old red car . . . recalling the stars on the American Flag hanging from your rear view window. America, it wasn’t free – nor was love, kissing branches of a tree.