Longing for freedom to rain from the heavens
Waiting for a flood of liberation to wash away the chains
But who am I to predict, what’s to come our way?
Have we ever really been truly free anyway?
I’ve been sat down my whole life, told what to do
I’ve watched my loved ones be worked like a cog
What dog thought organic matter could work in a machine
They ground down the ones I loved, and I sat a prisoner
to a fate and a design I never asked for
Can’t be free when you’re a hostage,
no peace in my cells,
No meditations in these hells,
no silence in a brain that constantly yells
Now I’m a jailbird to my thoughts,
yardbird taking beatings left and right
I realize why someone would want to
drown out the melodies of the mind
With a barrage of rain, violent pitter-patter patterns
Coming from furrow-browed gray clouds
Cracking thunder, crackling lightning, a light show
Reflected in my eyes that trace skies, awestruck
Stuck inside All day, all night, can’t hear a thing, can’t think
Why would you think when you hear the tears from above: rain
Before I know it break time is over the skies have cleared and I’m sent out to roam the lands,
My field time, an uncommon one, 7:45-3:15 taking thoughts of hell and sounds of rain with me

So I’m sat up on one of the few green hills left, looking out at the small green field
With a mind that has been watered, just like the land that opens up before me
A blue backdrop sets the tone for the feelings I have, prairies are a place of peace,
A place of silence, there is no barrage of noise here, the mind matched the land: an open expanse
These are the lands they scarcely allow us to be,
the illusion they keep us penned up in, there’s enough here
To make it seem like nature, to make us feel wild and free, there’s enough, surely there’s enough
There’s tallgrass that creates an ocean effect, blades of it, as far as the eyes can see
A patchwork quilt as old as time itself unfolds before me,
big bluestem creates stains of purple, a named lie,
Indian grass, green stems with yellow tops, blotches of gold, the lure of wealth,
Then there’s the sweetgrass, oh the sweetgrass, so tangy on the tongue, the natives
that we washed out with freedom used to braid this grass as an act to give back to Gaia,
now I just look as I kick back and take in the air, a prisoner’s reverie out on the prairie
Fresh country air, spearmint to the lungs, I hear the silence in abundance matching the quantity of the grass, floss for the mind, in this space I can be truly present
I can be free, I can frolic in the prairies if that’s what I want to do, if that’s the person I want to be
There’s a pond over yonder where you can hear the frogs croak at dusk or dawn
Crickets will put you sound to sleep, the birds will catch your eyes as they fly by, just passersby
in the grass you will see truths, in the grass you will see lies, it’s all in the mind
In the wildflowers you will feel the presence of company, it’s all in the prairie
goldenrods the beacons of hope, the pathfinders of freedom
Asters the eternal pair to the rod, truly purple unlike the big bluestem
Black-eyed Susans will gossip and let their words take flight in the air through their scent,
you will know the true nature of the plants, you will know they truly care
Up on the tallest branch of the rarest trees found out on the prairies I see the burrowing owl
Predominantly brown with speckled flecks of white, like the stars in the night sky,
in its gaze I feel its archaic knowledge of weather patterns and the times of rain
We are so blessed, we are so free, I will turn my head to the clear skies, rain, what’s rain?
Why would I want rain, why would we ever want rain, no no that would just drive us inside,
Never pray for rain, no because then we would not be able to be free

Before I know it my time outside is up, no longer am I expected to roam, on my way back
I’m beaten into submission by a multicolored gray cityscape, the only gold here is the lights
That flicker, allows me to stop or go as I ride in my machine
I’m hit with advertisements and spells that prompt me to purchase my self-medication-numbing agents
So I can forget it all and be happy, this is what it is to be happy, this is how you accept your role as a cog A gear, an axel, an engine, a motor, a wheel, a pulley, a wire, a socket, or a key
By the time I’m home I remember very little about my time out in the fields,
I remember little of what the black-eyed Susan said to me
I remember little of what the owl hooed to me
I remember little of the crickets lullaby
I remember little of the frog's croak
I remember little of that blissful day out on the prairie
What I remember is the lies, this is what I believe
I sit for a few hours in my dark chambers, nullified and numb, satisfied and dumb,
Flash some lights towards my eyes for a few and I turn in to do it all again
This is what freedom means to me