Trapped in a clandestine prison.

When all the walls are being built, all the papers being signed. The place you live has you trapped, restrained from choice. A paperwork prison. The land I am born into has charged me with life, and hard labor. Only bound by my dreams they said. My dreams of peace and happiness, never given a chance. I’m bound in bond by a signature and an accepted status of debt. I don’t accept it, but it seems as though I must. With poverty constricting the will to be, what option did I ever have. No cash, no freedom. The land of opportunity has shut the door. I demand the rights of quality of life. I am ignored. The right to; water, food, heat, and light, are not free they say. It seems as if the right to exist at all comes with a price-tag. The rulers of resources through industry and commerce, charging for the use and consumption of natural resources. Who can say these resources are owned and deserved by a man-made authority of paper and ink. The earth has naturally supplied its resources just as it has naturally supplied us with life here as members of the earth and the community of existence.


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