I've given up wine
and tobacco
and any kind of smoke
except the fumes of the city
and you

Sweet unholy ghost

Freedom

I've dreamt of you crossing my path
Long before I even noticed I was walking
Of course you didn't knock
and just demanded!
You've wandered the world
Just to cross that path

Of course I fell to my knees and plead
What other options did a slave learn?
But since then
I've worn out the shackles
Tied them to a foreign bed
Until it rotted.


You still walk that path;
This one
You're smoke,
and perfume, and mist.
You're a rhythm
The kind that will persist.

Long after the sound is gone
In the constant movement
Of thoughts and reveries-
That's where we'll meet again
The ancient meeting place.