The · Word · Pirate

Tell me, on high,
atop this painted mountain
no longer blocked by granite side
now free to stumble off in any direction
but yours
is this what freedom offers?
was this worth the climb?

With all under my feet, and nothing but the barest rock
Here, unrestrained, smiled on by chill gust,
I call out
Freedom only seems an end - 
when clouds below an august mist 
--a mere start--
a blank white canvas
that appears as art

How I've leapt after dreams
with no brush, no stroke, no shape
to see them below, the past, escaped!

but free, to create
and love--
just as I see you now, alone, above--
blessed I stand on freedom's stone

and reach!