No one is free I thought
the wings of truth split
into papers
cogs in the engine
shredding that to which we bear witness
turning what we knew
into something shiny and new
to fill this emptiness
Sunday morning lie-ins
our only day in which we don’t have to strive
and I thought this, this is the price
people think they have to pay
for freedom
and so I ask
What is freedom anyway?
But some elusive dream we’re free to chase?