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Poetry

Freedom Is Not a Box

By

Taylor

Taylor’s brother is incarcerated in New South Wales.

Christian Lue

Freedom has been likened

To a bird, a plane, a song,

It has been once personified

As a road that’s very long.

Freedom has been likened

To people: from war, death, or insanity,

To others it is being absolved

From rules for eternity.

Freedom has been likened

To doing whatever you please,

The moment Morgan Freeman finds that box

Under the big oak tree.

Freedom can be political

Ceased oppression, locks, and chains,

A nation’s struggle to move away

From colonialism’s gains.

On a Sunday morning, I see my brother.

In the walls of a correctional centre

All dressed up in green,

And seeing his smiling face for me

Is a feeling oh so free.

When he is released

I will be there – hand outstretched and seeing

That freedom is not a place, a box, a road,

But lives in his entire being.

Freedom has been likened

To a bird, a plane, a song,

It has been once personified

As a road that’s very long.

Freedom has been likened

To people: from war, death, or insanity,

To others it is being absolved

From rules for eternity.

Freedom has been likened

To doing whatever you please,

The moment Morgan Freeman finds that box

Under the big oak tree.

Freedom can be political

Ceased oppression, locks, and chains,

A nation’s struggle to move away

From colonialism’s gains.

On a Sunday morning, I see my brother.

In the walls of a correctional centre

All dressed up in green,

And seeing his smiling face for me

Is a feeling oh so free.

When he is released

I will be there – hand outstretched and seeing

That freedom is not a place, a box, a road,

But lives in his entire being.

This
piece
was originally printed in the
August 2024
edition of About Time.

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