Price of Freedom
An old man once said:
Freedom isn’t free
As a child, I grew up,
never understanding those words.
As an adult, I learned,
the tree of freedom is watered with blood.
I thought we had paid enough.
But as trees wither without water,
so does freedom without its tribute.
As such I hoped,
we could pay with sweat and duty.
But once again-we choose red...
Copyright © Hyungi Choi | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment