i'm told freedom tastes like sweet red wine
i do not drink
rather i intoxicate myself on memories
and hope.
i imagine peace smells like blooming flowers on the first dawn of spring
something my allergies allow no pleasure from
she tells me stories of her youth with furver
as if to lament in days of love
she talks of duty as adoration
as the chains clank in the wake of her footsteps
she speaks of her love as an adventure
her eyes tracing memories
as if her hands ruffling through the pages of holy scriptures
carefully revealing truths and lessons
she speaks of blood as a gift
though all it's ever given were sacrificial piers
duty, she says, is rewarding
as she carries burdens 
never written for her
adventure now defined as anywhere
other than what others label home
though cuffs can be seen shackled to her feet
and her face burdened with a smile
she has bequeathed me many lessons
the art of escapism
my most cherished.

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