Where Freedom Lives

I went to sea and rode a whale
and asked if he could take me
to find where freedom lives.
I nearly drowned.

I soaked up life and drank too much
trying to find freedom living
in the bottom of a bottle.
It was empty.

I wandered desert’s scorching sun
where life fights for every breath,
thirsting for a sign of freedom.
My lips cracked.

I sought an audience with death,
a final resting place that
even freedom can’t escape.
It was lonely.

I was born in pain and joy
to start life anew with hope
and freedom stretching out ahead.
Crying hurt my ears.

I read books until libraries
bowed before my knowledge;
Was freedom found in a word?
It was redacted.

I sat atop a mountain and thought
about my thought about my thought,
a train of thought that led to freedom?
I had no ticket.

I planned and worked and built a fortune
piling money until the sky was green,
so sure that freedom can be bought.
It has no price.

I gave it all away and laid down
waiting for nothing, wanting nothing,
nothing can deny me freedom.
Still nothing.

I became a whirling dervish demon
my maddened mind can do no harm,
surely freedom will be mine.
They locked me up.

The open road alone I went
to find where freedom lives,
the address was covered in dust.
I walked right by.

How long will it take
to find where freedom lives?
I found it in a familiar place.
Freedom lives in me.

© Jack Thompson

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