A Wandering Soul In Exile

My youth was too brief and whenever I felt distraught, I clutched my belief: to give faith a defined worth; free, but not truly liberated as a wandering soul in exile: reminding itself of how it inwardly bled amid thoughts that knew no minimal dire! Freedom has the dearest prize: I either acclaim it with excitement, or I lose it to that folly which destroys life; nothing about incomprehension is an efficacious attempt which enriches a rebellious mind full of rage and enmity, but can I comprehend its enormity? A disconsolate person is a wandering soul in exile, lacking insight and enthusiasm: a self-evident liar who's never warned of terrible consequences, dispelling honor and truth, feeding on worthless pride: to disassemble what was built with enormous sacrifices; always distrustful, arrogant and unappreciative of uprightness, pleasing in discord and disunity to satisfy an arrogant ego without self-esteem to continually spread sorrow! How can anyone fasten with chains a rightful spirit, to enslave it and enforce a punitive silence? The morning star is most beautiful before sunrise, mortals are most admired when they inspire, captivate and show endearment in their true and endless emotions: to evoke their past liberties that time has left intact!