Freedom Held Prisoner
They call it the articles of freedom
The amendments to a declared and sober declaration
“We will not be slaves to a demanding thief who knows not our labors or trials.”
These adulterous saboteurs in plain view and sight
Using our rights against us
As we all listen to them speak, pun, laugh and insist
We are right, they are wrong, continue the assault
As they faked their way through yet another day.
Artificial intelligence, indeed.
Imagine,
freedom held prisoner in the throes of those who define it,
who express it, who claim to defend it
by voice, pen and action
like an adulterous husband carefully concocting his next tryst
demanding of his betrothed her total trust and confidence
why he questions her every move, her every word,
her underlying ambition,
her interactions with others,
demanding she must give an account of herself,
on every level, because she cannot be trusted.
After he has brutalized her will, terrorized her faiths,
exploited her modesty,
and scourged her never ending suffrage
in the minds of her children,
for his continued success and ideology.
The face, the voice,
the man who made the suit called freedom.
God forbid she disagree with him,
this freedom must be tested, proved, reproved,
condemned for her indifference to his definements
then shoved in front of a crowd screaming for her beheading,
her destruction, her end in the end, as he requested
stripped bare by her husband to stand trial for his temperaments,
his wealth and control
contradicting the very idea and ruling presence
of the very thing he expressly declares must persevere,
on his terms of course,
while the blood of his children pour out in the streets
and he sits back and snarls, “ah success, sensational!”
as our loving freedom has no idea how he could not know who she really is.
Freedom, the enigma of nothing more than existing as one is to think, to be, to experience this monumental occurrence called life as one's self, as one grows, as one learns, as one corrects and sojourns onward without being told who, what, when, why, where and how you are, think, believe or should without fear, threat or punishment of being free by those who advise this bastard’s conduct be used as the tool to destroy our lady freedom, to give her no fair quarter for advancement lest he spend her last cent, dictate her each step sipping from her breath, to tell her who she can be who she can’t, where she will and why she won’t.
Censored by moguls who have the freedom to insist on what freedom is,
with whomever they choose,
and what trial it will endure next in front of the masses
at the loss of our freedom and the division of our minds,
our communities, our acceptance and commonality.
Would you like a red tie or blue one,
a comedy or a drama, perhaps a song,
rap, rock or reggae, jazz or country western?
Then write into laws a weapon against freedom.
“You harlot, you treacherous woman,
you over-emotional whore,
who are you to think and command me
I am the voice of freedom,” the coward screams at her,
red in the face, his chin dripped with spittal
then laughs like a jackal about his betrayal
as the crowds cheer him on
well hidden behind applause signs
while freedom silently reaches out for her own salvation
away from the men who define her.
“Please help, I am a prisoner. These men I know not.”
Jade Jaspers
