Escaping the Labyrinth

Open skies called out
to the flecks of dirt at
dark horse’s heel,

freed from the bonds
of plantation and sugared arms
that reached for the sun.

Distance carried dreams
as they hung in the air,
and sang liberation,

heard above the roar
of silver wave and dark mine,
above the cloud of smoke

heavy on fields where
powder and spirits burned
with equal measure.

Now the clouds echo
those old shots
through the rain,

heard on growing streets
by raised voices
with their lifted fists,

howling for the same dreams
that hid between
the mountain and the plain.

Fields bloom again in
colours that fell to the dirt
with distant sea’s winds.

The open skies call out
to the flecks of mud
on the toiler’s boots.

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