Barbed wire sketches its argument
against the sky.
Metal insists on boundaries.
Gravel insists on order.
Schedules insist on obedience.
But silver spills
where it wants.
The moon pours over the fence line
without tearing its robe,
without presenting credentials.
It touches every rooftop equally—
guardhouse, dormitory,
empty road.
Freedom, it seems,
does not shout.
It simply refuses
to be stopped.
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