ARE WE FREE?
Freedom to those who are not free
Is unattainable ecstasy.
To smell a rose, to see the sun,
To take a stroll when day is done.
Things so mundane can seem sublime
To one in prison, serving time.
For those who go to work each day,
Freedom is receiving pay;
And spending it on what they choose:
Petrol, cigarettes and booze?
To seaside at the weekend flock,
The people who must punch a clock.
To wealthy people freedom is,
Subscribing to their charities.
Letting servants do their chores
While they play tennis out of doors.
The choice to go by air or sea;
Of money worries they are free.
To me freedom is, more or less,
Our inner feelings to express.
When all our prejudice we bury,
Stop making judgements in a hurry,
Each other's point of view we see:
Only then will we be free.
Copyright Peter Jones 1991