It's a thousand hoofbeats

running wild on an open range,

it's an old country song

you sing to on a clouded summer day

it's the way ink flows upon paper

it's the acoustic guitar that echos on

when the last chord is played,

it's the waves crashing upon eachother 

as they make way to the shore,

it's the peace on mind after you meditate

it's sleepless nights watching movies 

knowing you won't rest until its early in the morning, or just too late

it's the rain crashing 

on an old tin roof, echoing

as you write a poetry of freedom

at 1:35 am.

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