Freedom - 1

Shackles
Cold steel
Broken by cold steel,
Locks spring open.
Under the chisel of the wind.

We speak of freedom as if it were possible.

We would be free were it not
For this imprisonment
Where everything is ours
And we still have nothing;

Released,
We run away with ourselves
Trapped in bodies swollen
Or starved by choice.

Slaves without names,
This liberty is not our own.

© BH, 2012

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Previously published in 2012 in Love is the Law Magazine, I’ve added this, the original plus part 2 of the longer poem from which it was taken.