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.

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