Freedoms Illusion Poem by John Prophet

Freedom,
what is it?
How free?
Original thought,
does it exist?
Is it rare?
My mind,
filled
with what was
poured in.
I could
believe
many things,
based on what
was poured in.
Where I was
born determines
what I
believe.
Local dogma
clouds my reality,
determines
what I
believe,
how I think.
I could be
many people,
believe many
things based
on what was
poured in.
Once the
cake's baked,
fully formed,
how free
can it
possibly be?