Freedom isn’t free.
This ought to be common knowledge,
for by now
everyone must have noticed
the rivers of blood
are getting knee deep.
If freedom must come
from the barrel of a gun,
then let that gun be a human heart
and let that barrel be a beautiful mouth
that speaks the truth
of the cost of freedom.
The price is paid in sons
and daughters.
Hard payment,
writ and notarized;
a gentlemen’s agreement
to be administered in perpetuity.
Did you know,
that there have been contracts
signed for in blood
with lighter terms?
For Hell demands only souls,
not lineage,
not pedigree,
not hope…
… that demand must come
from a power as high as we can appeal;
for freedom
isn’t even given to the angels.
Freedom isn’t free.
Freedom is a slippery, bloody cross,
staggering down the streets of Jerusalem.
Freedom is lovers cut down
by machine gun fire
in amongst the razor wire
before a concrete wall
that divided families for decades.
Freedom is carried on the backs
of terrified people
from refugee camp, to refugee camp,
to refugee camp.
Freedom isn’t free.
It is homeless,
nationless,
penniless.
The most expensive commodity ever traded
by the most bloodthirsty powerbrokers
ever birthed through human loins.
Freedom is paid for in dreams,
paid for with potential,
paid for with lust,
because the fact that it is so rare
that it must be paid for in blood,
is surely the aphrodisiac of tyrants.
Freedom isn’t free,
and it’s value is never diminished by its abundance,
yet it is scorned where plentiful.
Devalued in its heirloom
by entitled princelings
who sharpen their silver spoons
into prison shanks,
trading their trust funds
for the garish fashion of prisoners.
No, freedom isn’t free.
Freedom isn’t worth the MSRP.
It is priceless,
unaffordable,
unattainable
and invisible.
Holier than any grail
and more necessary,
for history has never birthed a savior
it has never killed.
I guess, when it comes down to it,
freedom is free,
until we demand everything for it.
HG – 2016
