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,



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,



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

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