To Be Free


A wise man once told me to never write a song
without a beat
So I wrote a poem
In a cold room
but a warm home
A stolen bed
with pretty sheets
The floor ends
where the roof meets
Where few eyes know and see
The nightmares and dreams known to me
Just a false dream of being free
Empty bottles
and a close bible
Open shoes
with known titles
The channels of my eyes have limits
An imaginary jail
with imaginary cells
If this is life I rather be dead
might as well
Finding my way away from hell
The pen talks and it tells
Came from a long way from being me
Just a false dream of being free

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