The Slow Movement into Freedom

by joelmckerrow

 

Look up child,
for there are moments
too precious,
too fleeting,
too redeeming
for downcast eye
and a soul turned in on itself.

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…and when the freedom comes
it may not feel as much like freedom as it was meant. As you expected. As the breeze told you. But freedom is the long journey. The slow movement. The giving until it has given itself to you and only on that day shall you recognise such.

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…and at the end of it all there will come the colour back again. The light and the shade. There will come glory. There will come hue and holy. And we hasten the day. We wait with baited breath. With deep knowing. With holding. We wait. We chase. We run into the spectrum of the possible and the perceived impossible. We look to our skin to see what it is reflecting. The day will come. I see it now, ever now, when the colours will return.

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