Long, drab sheets of cold lavished,
The white whisper of the wind penetrated the trees, the land, me.
An old oak dunk in pure horror signaled to me,
I had no warmth, no light, no hope.
In sheer disgust I plowed though the gray abyss,
The loathsome weather cackling at me as I strolled,
I stared into the blank midnight air,
Shall I thrust through the deep night,
And risk the odds of possibly being caught and killed,
A steep price,
Or continue a slave,
Captive and concealed from my pure potential, forever.
A harsh decision,
I watched the memories flush,
The farm, my home, my families deaths,
I blew with the wind,
I ran with the wind,
And found peace,
Away from the bitter cold,
Beyond the drab sheets of misery,
Apart from slavery,
Asleep from the world,
Resting in freedom.