Our Real Freedom
Real Freedom
I unravel my fingers
But I can’t feel anymore
I can’t feel of touch
Because of this I am at war
Fingers are cut
Wincing from pain
The glass broke apart
My skin of red stain
What habit has this become?
To alter the enemy
To betray my side
Just to hold a legacy
Colors travel though the scope
Abstract raises its spectrum
Revealing what I’d never seen
And creates our real freedom
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Our Real Freedom, which
was posted on Feb 1, 2012 by
Shiriasu.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"Basically, this is a poem, that I am turning into a short song that I had to mak..."
This poem is filed under:
Lyric
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