They Find Him Hard To Understand (a poem)

They find him hard to understand

Oh, they recognize his skin, his height and weight

As that of a man

It’s his spirit that rattles their equilibrium,

Losing their balance in the glare of

Freedom’s Son

So they greet his effervescence with reticence,

Insinuating their superiority by their silence

And his pearls fall among deaf swine

And he’s left wondering if he’s losing his mind

But what happens when Freedom’s Son cannot run free?

Feeling hedged in by the numb, the visionless and wounded by complacency

Must he prove his desirability by shaving off the edges of his individuality?

Ought he alter his soul to fit the mold

That shapes the masses?

See, they just don’t get him

Oh, they know his name, his kin and his address

But it’s his passion for living that disturbs their monolithic asses

So what happens when Freedom’s Son can not run free?

You tell me, must he withdraw into the safe interiors of his cerebellum?

See, I understand him, freedom seeking belle that I am

I’m always talkin’ ‘bout freedom:

Freedom now, freedom then, freedom when?

Let freedom ring from the the lookout mountain of self-awareness

And from the hilltop of high self esteem . . .

So I chase the dream

And I buy some clues and get some free

But I worry, if I gain the world,

Will I lose me?

Freedom’s Daughter/ Freedom’s Son

Shedding burdens, learning lessons, wearing scars

Two colliding stars walking the high wire

Of Wi-Fi connections

Arms stretched out for balance, for friendship, for sun,

Warmth, precision, refinement and love

Free love, a free for all, the best is the free fall,

Headfirst into enlightening waters

Swimming to undiscovered shores

In a consciousness as beautiful as night

Filling with an awareness of an ancient truth:

See it doesn’t matter what they get or understand,

They can’t change the weight, height, skin or depth of the man,

Nor shorten the spread of his wingspan

He is a portion of God on this earth, as I am

As you are, as we are

See, I think you’d get him; you’d be reminded of yourself

Now or maybe way back when

And deep down you’d admire his spunk and want him to win

Oh, they think a lot of him too but they stain their admiration

With earthly, demonic envy, fear and assimilation

No matter, Freedom’s Children will always rise

Reflecting ancient truths in their dream chasing eyes

Growing to authenticity while embracing peace and mercy

Growing to authenticity while embracing peace and mercy

Growing to authenticity while embracing peace and mercy

Growing to authenticity while embracing peace and mercy

Lydia Randall ©2009