by Selia Qynn 1980
When I was young, I heard someone say,
"To be free in this world, there's only one way -
Roll with the punches, ride the tides,
And stay in the cellar till the storm subsides."
Well, the cellar is dank and dirty and dark.
Freedom waits at the door of the ark.
But karma guards my passage through;
And says, "you can go... but you might not want to."
The storm still rages on, but yet,
What if its the only chance I get?
Should I brave the storm, or should I wait?
Could I live with myself if it was too late?
I try to stay up, but I'm feeling down,
Floods come in flashes and wash away ground,
But, I carry on, although its tough.
I dream a lot and don't live enough.
I want to fly, in the wild and blue,
Make angels in moondust and laugh with you.
But, now the the door is guarded by fear.
Maybe I'll wait a little longer here.