Freedoms Illusion

poem by: John Prophet
Written on Jan 14, 2020 

Freedom,
what is it?
How free?
Original thought,
does it exist?
Is it rare?
My mind,
filled
with what was
poured in.
I could
believe
 many things,
based on what
was poured in.
Where I was
born determines 
what I 
believe.
Local dogma 
clouds my reality,
determines 
what I 
believe,
how I think.
I could be
many people,
believe many 
things based
on what was
poured in.
Once the
cake’s baked,
fully formed,
how free
can it 
possibly be?

 

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