Friday, February 21, 2014

The F Word …..
Thérèse Miller-Beudaert

Freedom is an illusion, a myth.
After a nine months incarceration,
To be released in this abyss
Required a strong constitution.

Our very first taste of freedom
Hurts so much, it made us cry.
It was a taste of things to come.
They wrapped us tight
That made us fight
Our very first fight for freedom
We had to try
We wanted to be free as air, but
Freedom is a myth, an illusion.

How can the air be free
When one pays for its pollution?

Oh be damned, you and your question!
We want freedom to be ourselves
To speak what we must
To believe what we trust
To write what we want
To worship or to rant
To demand or to grant.

Society demands that we conform
At all times, from birth to demise.
We are free to do as we please
As long as it doesn’t trouble others
Or upset what matters.

Tell me, are we free to decide.
When we know that enough’s enough,
When our body’s riddled with disease
And there’s no one who can ease
The pain we can no longer bear?
Freedom is a myth an illusion

There are many forms of prisons,
Depriving us of our freedom
Take the loveless marriage
When children hold us back,
Or the job that we loathe
Which puts clothes on their back?
No, don’t tell us we are born free.
We all have our own prison
And believe us, there is no key.

When the time comes for our last breath,
Hoping to be at peace in death,
Reduced to ashes by cremation,
Freedom won’t be an illusion.
Our ashes scattered in the wind,
Flitting here and there at leisure,
We’ll have the eternal pleasure
To be free, free, free in the end!

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