A Book of Poems

The Song of Freedom

Perhaps its me and I have no idea what happens in this short life.
Perhaps its the people I can barely tolerate I should blame.
Perhaps its not me but this life and it's challenges as it is.
Perhaps I'm looking for one to blame when it's only me.

Perhaps I'd rather be alone and contented.
Perhaps I'm okay alone and I'm contented.
Perhaps contentment comes from the work one does rather than the family one has.
Perhaps family is what you make, not just those who make you.
Perhaps contentment is overated.
Perhaps one wouldn't understand contentment until one experienced it.
Perhaps contentment is personalized and comes in many ways.

Perhaps there is more than one way to kill a rat.
Perhaps there is more than one way to smoke out a cat.
Perhaps life is a blank canvas and everyone's painting.
Perhaps everyone has been painting the same canvas that now there is an expected standard.
Perhaps there's a blueprint of how life is and how to live it.

Perhaps its no use deciphering what has no cipher.
Perhaps things just are, life just is and hope is all we need.
Perhaps that's what children are and why this continent is overpopulated.
Perhaps what we need are new colors to paint of this dull world.

If only they will see the light differently. They may need new lenses.

Perhaps this, perhaps that.
All we need is acceptance. Change is on the horizon. It's coming, like the sun rises, these are the colors, they are already here...

Perhaps we'd be happier if we simply just lived; no thoughts, no unintended actions, no spiteful words, no difference, no indifference.
Perhaps we'd be happier if we were just as free, as changing, as vibrant as dynamic as this life is.

Perhaps inclusivity is the key and acceptance the lock.
Perhaps we should open this door and see where it leads.
Perhaps we will like the colors above the horizons.
Perhaps we will soar above the clouds.
Perhaps we can all be free.