Instruments of Freedom

Out of my heart pours a sea of hope, desires, passions

But my heart is silenced and only my hands can speak.

The vocal cords are the bones that run from the tips of my phalanges, to the soles of my feet, because you see when I write – it’s from my core.

You know, that thing, that gives you life and has a rhythm beat after beat,

That thing that when you don’t feel love back – you go weak, 
you know that thing.

Thinking about how I think with my hands – 
and how with my hands I can work a type of magic beyond Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie and even 
Mr. Potter himself.

I can travel thousands of places and merely, never leave a room.

Not by the twitch of my nose, or by flying away straddling a broom.

Just as now my heart is heavy filled with passion, pain, thoughts about

Love, life and the pursuit of the pursuit of this intangible idea of happiness.

Because isn’t happiness only a state of mind anyways.

I think so in-depthly about how things work together for all those who love the Lord, 
but am I truly loving him like he loves me?

Am I nailed to the cross as he hung there for all to see?

My God, my Lord, there are more things wrong on this globe,

Than the things dancing across my mind – however, I mustn’t

leave them to perform their entire ballet internally- just for me.

I should use my hands as the medium, the intermediary, the middle man

Between me and this keyboard... this piece of paper –

Are only these ten instruments of freedom.  

~BK