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A poem about freedom by Eric King

One day the water that feeds              the grass Will wash away the stain      of captivity off me The clouds will open their arms in a                       Warm embrace Years of hurt and abstract existence         will be wiped clean I can’t smell freedom but one day                    we all might Days can’t be bought on the free market        But they can be stolen at gun point Trees can’t grow in a day, but we clean                    out forests in…

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