Freedom

Maybe I’m antinomian, my love, guided by self-

Interest, afraid to let go. Thus, I’m lost in the

Matrix of mystery, trapped in its maze, seemingly

Destined for the margin. But life is a cinema,

Fraught with improbability, exposing the soul to

Its reflection. “Here I Am.” And we believe,

Consumed by inner-intensities, walking in the

Footprints of saints. And the mirror is foggy. But

We rest in the arms of a partial image,

Self-affirmed. Thus, we’re living the drama, and

It’s often tragic, but love sustains the crumbling

Soul. To let go would be equivalent to treason.

Thus, tangibility has become words, and spirit has

Become confirmation, and love takes precedence.