The still interrupted maybe, by a question: What do you know of the freedom you seek?
The peace we seek
The silences that we can manage.
The chains that we think we can carry. The weights we think we can bare.
Or, maybe then, freedom is a trap so tight – you can go everywhere with it.
If then, freedom is this – this ever elusive nothing that we chase in the escape of ourselves. This thing that we grasp for and never really touch.
Yes, freedom as a possibility, as perhaps.
Maybe freedom, then, is a thought. At the point. A thought from which thought can sprout. A not yet there.
Or perhaps it is that it is a word, whispered in the middle of the night to the unyielding moon.
Is it a song, that it might be sang and played again on repeat – circulated for a few days before dropping out of the sky?
What do you know of this freedom that you seek?
Where do you go when you search for freedom?
Tell me, what do you mean when you speak of freedom?
What then is it to speak to be heard? To tell stories of freedom?
“(I am) the speak with intent to offend offender”
- Mensa, FOKN BOIS
“Lock my body, Can’t trap my mind”
“What you want from me? Is it truth you seek?”
“Freedom freedom, I can’t move, freedom – cut me loose”
You keep running.