Gnawing (Freedom) Poem by Eric Cockrell
Gnawing (Freedom)
freedom
gnawing
at my
gut...
a rat
gnawing
on
the
ropes...
that
my fears
use
to
bind
me...
freedom, the oldest
primeval urge,
the grunting of
the darkness
as light opens
the door!
freedom...
the
raw
heart
beating...
in the
hands
of the
priest...
as the body
is flung from
the cliff...
the sound a rose
makes when it blooms!
Freedom is the heart, and the pure guts, of life, it's why we all get out of bed morning after morning. Great poem!
I won't be able to look at a rose again without think of this piece. I have never considered the rose as blooming for freedom. Wonderful Piece Eric. Best Regards as always Craig.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/28/2024 12:10:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Like this poem. Take a look at my new one called, Boy to a man. You. Might like one Called, for michael hicky. A true story. The two of them are true storys. Best wishes Dave