Freedom has a price. Often it is too high.
I wonder if those who can afford it ever find discrepancy in the balance.
Doesn't it seem ironic no one ever really knows
how to cut the ties which bind us to our own involuntary servitude?
We sit and ask for other pastures where the days are longer
and the flowers more colorful
But how often do we mow them over in our quest
for the greener pastures of our mundane lives?
Is one lot really that much better than the other?
Perhaps only that which springs forth from our earth is worth the time it takes to plant.
Whether our fruits of labor be tangible leads us to conclusions which we ignore
Somewhere someone is looking into the night sky
to the same heavens Copernicus first gazed upon with wonder
The lone soul sits to ponder if somewhere someone
knows the answer to the uncomfortable questions,
but is too afraid to speak the words aloud.
What is it which looms above like The Sword of Damocles -
unnamed, unseen, yet full of presence nonetheless?
The struggle continues for the liberty of the soul
against the internal captivity to the unsuspecting pitiful mind. Freedom is priceless.
It knows no wealth and respects no poverty.
To reach the underlying desires the heart must fly
beyond the limits wich have no power of their own.
A piercing look within is the only way to release the flyer in us all.
But is it worth the price?