Freedom is such a cherished goal
something most dream of but never achieve.
From the madness of Kings they suffer the peril
of life without the sagacity to believe.

On liberty and valor I measure my worth
I do not rely of the absurdity of violence.
My discourses of subjects die quietly still
in a show of waning support and epic silence.

My ethos are sadly punished by the shame
of confidence that was never born.
As war was in Rome, tyranny is general
So are the wretched and lawless to be scorned.

My doctrine of liberty has yet to take form
thus oppression and brutality shall reign.
"A people, says Grotius "can give themselves a King"
but a subordinate right I must refrain.

A treatise to the dead and the victims of rule
are calling with a whisk of steady knot,
for if the spirit of liberty and freedom are bound
then my spirit of valor thus rot.

Freedom is not synonymous to one culture or state
and freely exist in none.
It's not given by a God or protected by man
with a blood stained banner or gun.

I ponder my life, my goals, my wants
and the peace I wish to obtain.
My instincts warn to stay silent and suffer
and stay neutral on this moving train.

Scoundrels we are named, unfit to rule ourselves
a derisory fate that we all deserve
Within my heart my senses are aroused
yet such irreverence left my soul unnerved.


Gordon Martin