Prison Break

Property is theft
And it's prison for the thief
And so in giving up my junk
I find such sweet relief.

I never knew how chained I was,
How manacled, tied down
By every dusty item in
My rented chunk of town.

As if I owned those items,
Like we do more than borrow,
As if in clinging to that stuff
I somehow dodged the sorrow

That we feel when unaccepting
Impermanence is a fact.
As if my own identity
Into those boxes, packed

Could be in some way frozen
Like in amber, trapped the fly,
But before it is immortalised
That creature has to die.

And so the noise I thought was
My world crashing to the earth
Is in fact my shackles breaking
As I begin my next rebirth.

Freed from the crushing weight of
Of nostalgia causing pain
I am as light now as a sunbeam
And as fresh as new spring rain.