On the Spring equinox of 23’
They paid my ransom
They said I was free
But they lied.
I was dead,
Because ten days before I’d died.
As a rifle muzzle
Flashed orange time and time again.
Freedom doesn’t come
Just because they make you strip
And burn your grave clothes.
A naked corpse is still a dead one.
Freedom means rising!
Rising
And beginning anew.
I’d forgotten how many times
I’d been reborn before.
One time or twice?
Three times or four?
Times that my heart had died,
And I was forced to try again.
Freedom and life begin,
Where death seems to end.
Six and a half years before
Was another time I’d been born
In an orange muzzle flash.
It took my life,
By killing my past.
It left me to find rebirth
In chains and ash.
It left me to find my worth
When I had nothing but eternity
Left in my heart.
It’s hard to live a life in chains
But it wasn’t all a loss
I can count some gains,
I learned that Freedom
Is something I am
Not something I’m given.
I am born into it
Time and time again.
From breath to death
From death to breath
I’ve learned that I rise new
Every morning.
Each day is my resurrection.
j.w, McKinleyville 3/5/26