What is freedom, but a word.
It doesn’t mean a thing.
We shall crawl and never get up.
Our voices forgot how to sing.
This rope encircling our necks,
tightens when we pull away.
Not far are we allowed to go,
only our thoughts are left to stray.
As slaves, we have no rights,
nor can we escape the darkness ahead.
There’ll be no flame to burn the noose,
and put an end to tyranny’s spread.
Our burden is of our own making.
With the devil, we made a deal.
If he let’s us live in bondage,
on bended knee, we’ll kneel.
Shelby I. Courtland
©2014 Shelby I. Courtland