The unyielding pursuit of freedom tragically enslaves the pursuer to the pursuit. For the very freedom one is pursuing, was used to begin the pursuit.
I know you feel me
galloping around in your heart,
’tis me, that little child,
still finger painting art!
I know you hear me
when I tickle your ear,
“Hey, Mr. Grown Up,
you’re still my favorite Crayon engineer!”
I know you see me
when you look to the sky.
Remember us collecting the stars,
and when we first learned to fly?
I know you taste me,
when the snowflake dissolves on your tongue.
The feeling ripples through you,
the flavor of “young.”
Oh, Mr. Grown up,
who cares what they say.
Let’s frolic about freely,
lets go out and play.