Lord Why Is Freedom Dead? Poem by Rachel Aurelien

I meditate under a Persian blanket, hidden in the distance are many diabolical wars.
Quivering at its own filthy diseases in the heart of unruly death minded men holding chokebores.
It's the end of my peace and an escape for caged freedom but only to the end of mankind.
Then the angel of freedom can stretch its wings and breathe without the birth of limitation.
It can't be free right now, it dies with chains around its wrists,
and it only can be born again with liberty scripts held in its fists.
But no! The catastrophes will live on and innocent people will die.
I will worry for the souls of the children,
I will pray with my spirit, soul, heart and my thoughts blessed to be clean.
That the earth will rain hyssop, and Ortolan eaters will be seen.