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Freedom Andre Plaut What does Freedom even mean? Are there different levels? Extremes? All or nothing, it seems. Can it be utilized purposely? Or do we just wave it like a flag? We’re sent onto a field to drag, Like a crucifix, Should it be honored or even worshipped? Should we die for its Sins? We wear it on our sleeves and pray for its dream. Can it be immortalized in a statue, Is it truth, is it virtue? Do you miss it when it's gone? Do you wonder where it's been? What it has done and what it's seen. Can we use it like credit from a bank? And spend as much of it as we can? Until we've reached our limit And we're left with the debt and accumulated interest. Is it objective and set in stone? Is it better left alone? Is it returnable with no receipt? Is it ambiguous and unknown? Should it be taught to children Or will they learn on their own? Is there ever the wrong kind of Freedom? Can it even be taught? Can anyone ever even explain? And if it can't and if no one has, Should we be killing in its name? Is freedom binding Like a promise Is it something that we're owed? Can it break? Can it expire?

Can we wear it out of fashion, Or play it out like an Old, scratched up record. How does love fit in to Freedom? Are we free to love at will? Is Will even a factor Is this something we must steal? Can we take freedom on tour? Can we ring it like a bell? Does it spread like a disease? Or is it slow like evolution? Does it evolve, or is it still? Does it sit quietly in a corner, Like a child being ignored, That cries loudly when it's lonely And louder even when it's wronged. What does Freedom even mean? Is it something that can be taken? And if it can, who can give it back? Who controls it? Is there an owner? Is there someone we can speak to? Is there anyone here That truly understands it? Is it an old friend We maybe used to know, But space and time has changed it? But we speak of it kindly As if it never left. Is it something that can leave? Can it decide to go away? Does it have a mind of its own? Or do we decided its path, Is it filled with compassion, Does it suffer waves of wrath?

Is it forgiving, Or does it hold a grudge? Does it treat us all equally Or does it take its time to judge? Is it something we can feel? Can I reach into the ground and touch it? Will I come up empty handed, Will Freedom seep through my fingers? Is Freedom real or is it made up? And if it's fake, who created it? Were they rich or in poverty? Does Freedom care how much you're worth? And if it doesn't, Why do we? And if it does, It's not worth it. Does freedom mean anything? Anything at all? We fill in the blanks And hope that some day, The words that were used start to make sense.


A Poem about Freedom

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