The spring sunset hangs on the horizon
in shades of cranberry, and black bird silhouettes
spiraling their way toward the top of a pine.
Even this natural book of psalms being written
with shadows would be banned if
Stiflers of Freedom knew nature’s joy couldn’t be edited.
There is rebellion in wildflowers surviving the feet of men,
as they dance their bright colors toward a sapphire jeweled night
where Flora tends her nursery of seedlings.
In the lily snowfall of petals, the moon begins its hymn
guiding spirits of flesh and blood, who no longer seek guidance
from droning pulpiteers, to find freedom in her inclusion.
Whether the dreamer sleeps or walks with eyes wide open
there’s no damning or demands to be anything other
than the color(s) they choose from the rainbow.
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