What is freedom, really?

Is it a group of people in suits,

A mob of people saying, "Back to our roots!"

Is it a tangible thing that people can hold?

The definition of freedom is quite out of reach.

A group of people crying "Speech, speech, speech!"

Oppressed minorities with too much time on Twitter?

Freedom seems to come back to one thing,

One thing all the time:


People expressing themselves--

Where the sky is their limit.

To be unfettered by censorship and greed,

To be able to fill all the mouths we must feed,

With no one person stuck in the lead,

This truly is freedom.

To expose the wrongs of the world,

No matter how large.

This is freedom:

People, freely expressing thoughts.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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