Freedom

Chained down, with no escape in sight.

My own mind reminding me of the darkest night.

Trapped in a shell of my own ideals.

With no way of showing how I truly feel.

Thinking back, to when I had the greatest utensil.

All this power, held inside a little pencil.

These great ideas that manage to keep me sane.

Are all contained inside my troubled little brain.

With a little help I can express my emotions.

It is clear that a pencil is the greatest love potion.

Writing fast, finally letting it out.

With a great passion all I can do is shout.

Then it happens, the chains let me go.

I start to run, bringing the knowledge that I now know.

It is clear that I just had to be me.

Now I know that poems are the one way I can truly be free.