Independence has to be sought.
To achieve independence, one has to have a drive. A will to do it. A madness to be free. It cannot be granted, in its entirety, without this insanity.
If it is desired too early, there is a rebellion.
If the time to seek it has elapsed, it is given with uncertainty, and never completely.
And at the right time, it grants wisdom.
Wisdom that sees the struggle gone into its attainment, the blood burned to get it. Wisdom that directs its sanguine use. Wisdom that creates a fierce protectiveness of it.
Whether this freedom is of thought or of the soul; of countries or of a people; or of the young replacing the old; the free should never be caged. It never ends well for the captor.
So here that puts me. Sweaty brows and soft words have granted me the glimpse of the life I would permanently have on being consistent with these qualities. Some are of the opinion that it is too hard a toil for not much of a reward, but I disagree. There is a thrill in knowing no strings control you anymore. There is ecstasy in being free.
Orange fire devours the sky.
Flames licking up the cloud linings.
Fifty shades of black creep in.
The wind whistles, marking its way.
Verdant fields sway to the inaudible.
Beyond rolling hills awaits life.
Whole continents are shrouded by the horizon,
And beyond that, the universe.
Light melts in her liquid eyes.
Lean limbs are crossed languidly.
She stands defiant, resolute and tall.
Lying in wait to conquer it all.