I wrote these at four in the morning on a bit of printer paper when I couldn't sleep in a stream-of-consciousness deal with no editing, so bear with me on that front, my tiredness may seep into the writing.

Freedom

I am a free man.
As free as a man can be,
Under the powerful and woeful confines
Of Mother Nature, a primordial and all-encompassing
Fragile might.

I am a free man.
As much a man as a juvenile can be,
Contained by the inaccurate idiosyncracy of society,
To judge by the anniversary of conception. With such a habit already fixated, brilliance is
Wholly irrelevant.

What is a free man?
What defines this wonderful creature?
What sporadic range of properties accumulate to create it?
How does it function in society?
Does this paradox walk, talk, exist at all?
Or has this mythological being been an impossibility from the outset?

WHAT IS A FREE MAN?
WHAT AM I?

Lilies On The Pond

White lilies on the pond,
Floating, effervescent, as does my virtue,
On the muddy waters of corruption.

Virgil awaits in the Inferno for me,
Soul aghast at my culmination,
The Inferno had never beckoned me.

The water of corruption,
Is the entity that I blame,
Sweet sin on a silver platter, to entice the impressionable babes.

A childlike voracity that leads me to question,
Also leads me to my unknowing insurrection against the worship of ignorance,
The idolatry of violent stupidity.

Thought makes the man.
Thought makes the reality.
It is incongruent that such omnipotence be contained,
In something so easily perverted.