Freedom

Freedom is a tenuous thing:
We must fight for its being,
Like a mother cat chasing a predator,
And guard it zealously.

But its exercise is a dangerous act
Full of bumps and bruising
Shaking like an exotic dancer
Often practiced in the darkness
Of a dirty alleyway
Like the cheapest of salesmen
Coughing his bile to the streets.

But polished by the struggles
It shines with the brightness
Of sunshine playing on the waters,
Floating on the breeze on a summer day
Tooting and squeaking
Like kazoos and whistles on the fourth of July.