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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