Freedom is Eternal

My attempt to re-hash something I wrote a long time ago.

Freedom is eternal.

Or so some bastard said.

I asked him for his reason,

‘well  we’re not yet dead’

I pointed to our walls,

our chains,

our jobs,

our debts.

He flashed a smile and looked at me

Well we’re not yet dead.

I told him of my sorrows,

the ones I’ve loved now gone.

The ones who lost their meaning

whose suffering goes on

I told him of the others

the ones who never tried

the ones who never had a chance

the ones where beauty died

I swore and raged and ranted,

demanding to know more.

The bastard he just grinned at me

you’ve heard my words before.

I asked him for forgiveness.

I felt I needed some.

He grinned and laughed

and said my son, our death is yet to come.

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