A notebook bulletin board
tacked on when randomly bored
applied thoughts in a scribblebook
open for the world to look who passes by
so fast to see like a needle in a haystack we
safely stash those innermost secrets thought to be
at least you see languishing up and into pristine
blossoms for you to pick and sniff and hope
they don't make you sick.


On words,
and freedom

on words

A good purpose of
words is to serve
as a solvent which
assists in breaking
down those barriers
which block the truth.

A bad purpose of words
is to serve as the mortar
used in building up, brick
by brick, those very same
structures. Truth itself
is neither good nor bad.
Words only frame the
windows through which
we can tell this.

on bricks

The foundation is
made of half-truths.
Its walls are made
of lies. A glass roof
invites mockery
from the stars.

on prisons

Thus are the houses
we are invited to
dwell in. Too often do we
make them our homes.

on freedom

With honesty as your sword,
let truth be your shield
and in to this brick prison
you will never yield.

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