Tuesday 18 January 2011

Freedom at 4:20.

The first in a short series of free-verse poetry.




Freedom at 4:20.

It breaks
free
of its blue-white prison.

Liberated,
stretches its legs -
packs a bowl;
chills,

nestles in cool
polythene
bags.

Released,
pulled, torn and
ground apart;

sprinkled.

smoke
hovers
in the mind;

free,
it courses
from a pen...

Immortal.

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