A Fir Away

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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.

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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Vijay Pandit

Date: 8/10/2018 9:27:00 AM

Imagery you captured tells the story..well written poem Andrew..enjoyed reading it.