What is Freedom?

What is freedom?

Is it the brainchild of purpose?

The essence of existence

A false reality made by unfathomable content

Freedom squirms in the antagonized grasp,

It fights, screams, and then fades to nothing


Where is freedom found?

Is it found deep within the tyrannical brick walls?

Freedom is only found in the light

Never near the darkness

Freedom is cleaved by the elite

Never left as scraps for the dogs


Does triumph prevail after the release of a prisoner?

Will the injustice and affliction ever cease from existence?

The oppressed are nothing but like preys to society

We are but feeble and frail to the eyes of racism

Our silence speaks nonsense

From hour to hour the clock ticks, but yet no change

An innocent man, a good husband, and great father

Is bound by chains and stains of racism

Is it not the prison bars that keep us locked up,

Instead ideals of unreachable expectations of physique

Tom Robinson, who did nothing wrong, is wronged by the wrong


How does freedom look like?

We walk down desolate, dystopian halls

But, it is no different from outside


This poem is about: 
Our world


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