Chains Of Freedom Poem by Don Pearson

Chains of freedom
link the living to the dead,
Lorca to Dylan,
the road
to the road
to the track
to the path
to the morass,
to the waltzers
on the edge of the woods,
to the bodies in their depths,
sprouting overnight
like mysterious mushrooms.

We are allowed to exhale
our illusion of existence,
permitted to mouthe
parodies of ourselves,
catch-phrased, clichéd: -
some are born oblivious,
some achieve oblivion,
but for the greater part
we thrust oblivion
upon ourselves.

Carry yourself and other
handfuls of anonymous dust
to forlorn hilltops
for dispersal on the winds
(or to be dumped in deep forests.)
Crawl on, crawl on
your allocated years
until compelled to surrender your keys
at the open door
to the desolate forest of stones,
marked only by the chimes
of the fractured bell.

8th June 2014