A poem about what freedom means to me. For Writer's Cramp contest.
To be free is the greatest gift.
A hard-won bloody perilous gift,
That perches on a precipice of
Laws and rules and fundaments.
My heart is full of earthly pride,
To share in a place that’s free.
Forefathers who died, and those who lived
Have made my homeland free.
I give my thanks and blessings great
That I live where I can be happy, or
A critic, a malcontent, and leader, too.
And for this my spirit soars.
Freedom isn’t a luxury
It is something that is done
On purpose for the ones who live
Now, and for generations yet to come.