A Poem About Freedom

This past week I encountered a bit of my youth, as I ran across my only claim to fame: a poem included in my community college's yearly publication. I was 20 years old at the time I wrote it, and while I wish I could change some of the lines to not be so extreme and judgmental, there is still much truth found in pockets of it. I leave it untouched...

Your Unknown Possession

You, the American, the fortunate one

Wake each day to priceless opportunities

Gifts from some distant forefather

One who allegedly shed blood for you

You partake in these benefits daily

Without thought or even thanks

You attire yourself in hundred dollar skin

For which you will one day pay, but

Not now, thanks to Master Card

You transverse borders with no thought

Traveling from country to communism

To civil wars and back again

Simply relying on a blue, stamped book

You view fires, hurricanes, and starving children

From a Lazy Boy with beer in hand

Flipping screens if too boring or gory

Dismissing images with learned apathy

Christmas and Easter, ritualistic visits

To shell out dues to who knows what

God, merely a name seen when

Purchasing unneeded merchandise

Or maybe pondered on September 11

But only in fear or anger

You stroll from spouse to spouse

That is, if you decide to marry

Children and pets are good when lonely

But require no effort or instruction

Then you wonder about Columbine

You pour time, effort, and money

Into legalizing marijuana

And fail to connect overflowing jails

To the growing addictions

You idealize stick skinny supermodels

But send teenage girls into suicidal depression

Yes, you would be 100% American

Fortunate? Well, you should have been

But in your freedom you lost it

Enslaved to the incessant demands of self

Ask those living in oppression about it

They know the very essence of liberty

Buy you, you only know bondage

Slavery to the freedoms you think you so deserve