FREEDOM

Moulded like plasticine
by fingertip and fist.
We proclaim it.
We debase it.
We seek it.
We try it.
We smother it
and covet it.

Loud and vociferous tongues
lap up the empty spaces
in universe and mind.

I have a voice.
I have a choice.
Hopeful mantras,
claiming victory,
claiming freedom.

But freedom slips away.
A ribbon development.
A Pilgrim's Progress
of slippery-silk treachery.

No parallel universe points the way.
We are and will be,
we were and can be,
no more and no less
at liberty;
to point the finger at time,
to drop the pebble
and create the waves,
that ripple out and perpetuate
all that we are.