Freedom Song
People died fighting for a freedom
that is now locked up in a dusty bottle in an antique shop
At night someone tells stories about battles they didn’t fight,
keeping others from fighting theirs
Retirees sitting on easy chairs
read the news with disgust in their eyes
Somewhere is an ancient battle gun, now mute
surrounded by mute wooden benches for chatty tourists
Freedom, such a blackhole of a word
pulls in everybody and everything in its meaning
What happens to career freedom fighters
on Independence day? Do they retire?