To die for our freedoms
What a damn conundrum!
Of willing participants offering their heads for stacks of receipts
Little pieces of paper more powerful than life could afford, displaying out
Barcodes ending in the bold: The End
Another number scanned through by jagged lasers flashing in a bloody red
Checking off the last box on the chore-list and hiring the gardeners to plant fate and grow fields of strawberries
The most profitable crop known to man
Each weak seed plucked from the soil and forgotten
Never learning how to grow old and juicy:
A fulfilling plumpness of tasty satisfaction, wanting touch, to be eaten willingly, those
Finding religion in the sensual pressing on lips and being awarded the flavor caressed in mouth
A strawberry for a life who doesn’t want to die but to live until living has been enough
One by one, or however connected throughout those should be
The little receipts become pages in novels, thin sheets of memories kept in history to beg for understanding
Describing the time and the place of each printing of ink
When monsters become heroes because it’s easier to believe
But the harder reality only validates that violence creates the evils of mind and the many faces of man; sets the theme for the future plans ahead
So why must one fight for freedoms of life; gifts of ordinary ideals worthy of battles that vary from the most opportune prize?
To be free is to live but to die to be free without living at all doesn’t seem like the rational response to anything threatening
Or awarding devils mercy as they hold out skeletal hands in wanting:
Either complete surrender or the key to the soul.
I am grateful for a day of exploring with good friends. ❤