Poetry

Freedom

Once upon a time there was a country called Pangaea

A place everyone could call home,

The only country in the world.

Passports, green cards and visas were foreign words

In a land with no foreigners.

But the land broke apart and we drifted apart.

Borders were gained and freedom was lost.

We were all given a country to call home,

And we built surrounding walls,

Pretending we have a right to decide who can enter.

Documentation โ€“

Brittle paper not accessible to the brittle souls.

*

Once upon a now there is a country called Ireland

A place I can call home.

A country of excess, when others decline

And shrivel up from famine or burn in war.

I freely roam (the land I have the privilege to call home)

The busy streets of Dublin while learning the history of Meath

Gaining from the culture of Galway

And breathing out in the green hills of Kerry.

A country so rich, so beautiful,

But with some of the highest walls of all.

But now itโ€™s time for countries to unite once more

And become a place anyone can call home.

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6 thoughts on “Freedom

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