Forgiveness and The Long Way Home

I had a red shinny tricycle,

but never a bicycle.

I dreamt of riding free,

in a yellow lemon dress,

flying down the hill

with the wind caressing my hair.

Dad feared I would fall

and I would hurt myself.

So I didn't fly until years later,

when I ran away,

no longer accepting to be sheltered

from the storms of life.

I left with a plane ticket,

the clothes on my back,

and a dream in my eyes.

My purse stuffed with family photographs

that I treasured,

memories of what I was leaving behind.

No money

or plans,

the man sitting next to me spoke

about pre Colombian  art,

puzzled, he watched the stars in my eyes.

My life was waiting,

forbidden love,

youth, brilliant and reckless.

Seduced by a freedom fighter,

not knowing he worshiped methadone,

hidden away in the refrigerator.

When John Lennon was shot

I still believed in the change that never came.

I battled his demons

and lost.

Broken dreams and promises.

I woke up one day and walked

away with my soul battered
but not defeated.

I walked away 

and opened new doors

and dreamt new dreams

fire in my soul

the wind on my back.