Coffee

I sit here in the morning

Sipping my coffee.

Every single day

Something stops me.

I read the news, 

A disaster here and there,

A sprinkle of protest, 

A dash of terrorism,

And the zest of men

On the edge with no regrets

For what happens to their fellow people.

I feel so trapped in fear

That freedom cannot

Be demonstrated.

This rare, backwards world

I refuse to call the

"Land of the Free."

This spectacle I cannot

Call freedom.

For if I was truly free,

I could be peaceful

Drinking my coffee.

This poem is about: 
My country

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