Freedom is an Unspoken Word

Freedom is an Unspoken Word

There is no freedom
But the unspoken word.
Once spoken, it is imprisoned in meaning and innuendo,
Once written it is captured for all of time.
But in my mind,
It is truly free.
It can roam the skies as a bird,
Or burrow the earth as a worm,
It can swim the seas as a carp,
Or evaporate like a puff of breath
In a cold winter’s day.
It can be and not be,
But once inked, it is, and always is,
Dead.
A lifeless word in a paper casket,
To which we pay our respects
With a pass of the eye,
Giving thought to what it could have been,
And, even now, in the cold enclave of its future
It sows the seed of offspring
In the fertile ground of reflection,
But, lest we forget it,
We cage it again.