Wrinkled pages.

Of wrinkled pages.

Wrinkled pages, colored black with ink

Thoughts dressed in words, for eyes to read

You rush to decipher the meaning, but hold onto your drink 

What you read will not lead to freedom, for that you have to bleed

Liberated, are you? A question which many would answer in affirmation

Some even lay claim to be independent thinkers, yet worry of being the outcast

What have you liberated yourself from? To which one would encounter frustration 

Standing near the gate of freedom, you walk back, for now it has finally rained at last 

The fear of being isolated, of being shunned, wreaks havoc inside you

Go back to your table, the wrinkled pages and the pen await for you