Notes About The Poem
Upon standing 30 feet away from a bear, one tends to have epiphanies. Like how we will never be free until we release the shackles of innocence, until we escape from the demands of society, until we break free from our own inhibitions. The closest we can be to freedom is about 30 feet, I reckon.
A Fir Away
Snarled locks of black twisted fur
A fir away from where I stood
In the close air, it's stirring
No shelter from what's good
She looks to me with tired eyes
Inside are shades of countryside
The sand and rocks of which she spies
Into her, unto me, this world resides
What can one say to a wild thing?
Nothing is truly understood,
Yet we want for a song to sing,
Blurs the lines between bad and good
However close we're aiming to be
We can't be nearer to the meaning of free
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