conditioning
We shout out for freedom
yet still, the prison of desire
calls out our door,
opening it unasked
but with a shallow joy;
Apparently there’s a fermented beverage
that awakens our eager prison;
the art of silence
shadowed our yelling;
During the light cycle
there’s beauty in words and deeds;
during the radiant moon
drunken tongues outlaw freedom;
We shout out for freedom
away from old conditioning
until the night’s doom;
we, as merely thoughts,
seek that entitlement with the sun.