To Kill a Mockingbird
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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,
Just sad that it can come to this
A beautiful nation, a beautiful person
Torn apart, arguing within
Over the color of their skin
Separating based on looks
Left every move uncertain
Eerie malevolent phantom
no proper contact of Touch
There was no Howl nor sound
people said he Existed
Dear voice of Every child -
