Freedom, the beauty in the word itself. Free, to break control of that those have on you. Dictators, Leaders, Nobles, Aristocrats, all of them seem to hang our freedom in their scales. Their scales of right and wrong, contradicting what they see fit, To spread our wings and fly, is the divine goal, but how do we fly, when THEY have clipped our wings, when we allow others to put us in a cage. Under lock and key, strained from our movements. Like puppets tied to strings. They decide our actions, our movements, even our decisions to an extant. Can we be truly free, can we take the reigns back into our hands, after it has been ripped. Can we break from the cell we were put in. Only time will tell. For like a clock, we seem to always circle back, after moving forward for so long.
