Freedom Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Freedom Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Freedom. These are the best examples of Metaphor Freedom poems written by international poets.
Upon witnessing the abrupt sunbeams
Waves anew in the two ancient ponds
Bears and stallions from the black frame
The major sixth chord in the piano
______________________
September 10, 2025
The Printers clipped her Dash—
And caged her Breath in Chains—
Yet Time—
its Lantern flickering—
Restores what none can name—
They pressed her Thunder flat—
But Silence wove the Wild—
One Century—betrayed—
Another—keeps the Fire—
The Raggedness they could not mend
Fulfills her single Desire—
She would not sell her Storms—
Yet—
Time perceives—
Dashes leap the narrow Page—
Where Songs could never bow—
Letters she sent—
To Sue—so near—
Held beyond the Press—
In twine between the Lines—
Her Voice—untitled still—
Dwells in Quiet Rooms—
Waiting for the Lantern
To scatter Hollows—
Ink may fade—
Fingers cut—and bend—
But jagged Breath survives
Where Silence will not end—
Storms were never meant for Shelves—
But for the Open Sky—
I refuse to fit into
The boxes they made for me
Days will pass
Over millions of minutes, and
Every time you look
Somewhere out there,
New boxes are made for
The ones who don’t understand.
Maybe I’m wrong, but
All these boxes are imaginary.
They define everything about
The boxes they put you in.
Every box holds expectations, and
Right inside them is where they say you go
The seed of freedom is curtailed,
germinates interrupted,
the harvest is delayed...
The fruit of freedom
may take time to be harvested,
but it is worth every stoic sacrifice...
We cultivate God,
ending wars,
celebrating peace,
living life with love!
The sands of time dripping,
leaves and flowers wilting.
natural wisdom flowing!
Wisdom consists simply in...
knowing how to plant well,
cultivate, and harvest...!
Giving Caesar what is his,
is not ignominy, submission, it is
fulfilling temporal law, without being a doormat...!
May I return when nights come
And off the furious outside mind
And lit beams inside of some kinds
They sparkle calmness as seeds sprout
And shine as the moonlit torches the soul
I am sure of these moments of aliveness
As bright as the crystallized world of unseen
ln a sudden mode, hilarious could flow
Else, fade off tiredness irrational foes
Many times, I hate to mention this in poems
As hypocritical as some chinese trouble
I walk a rope that hangs in air,
It moves with rules I do not see.
Each step I take feels watched, not free,
And I forget who I used to be.
The rope is soft yet too tight and pulls me back,
Like Kind Hands hiding quiet chains.
It bends around but doesn’t break,
And leads me through the same old lanes.
I feel the pull from sides unknown,
Not just by you, or even me.
Some hands I never see or name
Still change the shape beneath my feet.
I walk like water in a glass,
Shaking with fear I cannot speak.
If I fall, is that called freedom?
Or just another circle made?
The rope still turns but never ends,
And still I walk though truth is blurred.
Still I walk, though the knot is hidden,
And the wind keeps shaking, blurring what I see.
The fruit of freedom
may take time to be harvested,
but it deserves every stoic sacrifice...
They call it a profession.
Selling your skin is not the same
as selling your skill.
They call it a bad habit.
Nose picking is not the same
as digging dignity.
They call it empowerment.
Selling a product is different
from being the product.
They call it freedom,
Walking naked in a cage is
not the same as walking free.
They call it a choice
But selecting whose hunger to feed is
not the same as selecting your outfit.
It is what it is-
a meat market, where bodies hang in cuts of desire,
priced by the pound.
a silent auction, where the highest price
buys nothing but shame.
It's a landfill, where discarded intimacy rots
beneath the glitter of screens.
It's a plague, spreading through wires,
infecting touch, until love itself coughs blood.
It's a parasite, gnawing through the bones of society,
spitting out empathy like gristle.
It is a wound which bleeds on both ends.
the watcher and watched are both
drowning in the sea of pus.
Behind the curtains, hands grow fat,
minting coins from pain and spat.
WITH HOPE AND FAITH IN THE PROMISE
Like roaring rivers flowing under bordering bridges,
Cascading over, under, and around blocking stones,
So must we be as we continue to struggle
Along the freedom road to promise equanimity:-
As we encounter injustice’s walls of opposition,
Let us approach them as remnants of Jericho:
Their fate and destiny, victims of fortitude and integrity,
Of a people with eyes on the prize, plowing on to victory:-
As the millennial sojourn to true freedom continues,
Let’s not be dismayed by the new tactics of injustice,
Modern day political deceit is heaping upon us:
He of warriors, whose faith moved mountains:-
As we continue to plow rows of hope and fate in our sojourn,
Watering seedlings of liberation blooming in this day of struggle,
Let’s be mindful that we are children of the God of the oppressed:
Children promised to come and rule the world with His justice:-
Like sand held in my hand,
I know I squeezed too tight,
Grain by grain you will drift away,
And with wind take flight.
I'll keep my hands wide open,
I'm stepping to the side,
So when you look about you,
Your space is open wide.
A rose
With the scent of the earth
Aroma from the clouds
A desire to soar
Tides crashing
against the shore
Pauses to expose
the measure
Of the treasure
Yet the strain
Of the petals
inside the fine veins
Yearning for a selfie
The glee of the folds
So bold
Expecting expansion
Spirit of ascension
Reinforced by
The longing for flight
Freedom of light
In addition
The sops
The raindrops
Veils slowly ajar
A glimpse of the shine
of a star
A delicate smile
Somewhat beguiled
At a simmer
A glimmer
Lips and eyes follow
From a depth
Gradually
The treasure
Time swallowing time
Chimes in the atmosphere
Eyelashes and hair
Fair and lovely
And the eyes
Azure and solitary
The flute
Its sheen
Nose aquiline
Ready to receive
with a salute
___________
July 23, 2025
Dropping Flowers, Blades Of Grass, And Us
Like flowers droop
but refuse to die
from the heat,
like tanned fields
subsumed in the struggle
to survive and keep
the flow of transpiration,
like the trodden blades of grass
pushing through sidewalk holes
to capture the cosmic energy
that fuels them onward
the victory they seek
to be free,
we, like all of nature,
must continue to travel
the jubilee road
riddled with imposing holes
and nullifying roadblocks
that causes us to stop
by the roadside
once and a while,
to check our engines,
water up,
and refuel our spirits
with divine wisdom
and guidance,
navigating us onward
and upward
on the paved footprinted way
our ancestors have left us
in the never ending passageway
to freedom, justice, and equality:
thus, let us buckle up,
and with eyes on the prize,
hit the pedal
along the remaining
bumpy way
of our liberation sojourn:-
JERICHO AWAKENING
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From aged-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
Let not the reality
Of new Jericho borders
Blind and deceive us:-
Legislative freedom and unity
For so-called refugees,
Remain at hand, and
Our struggle to be masters
Of ourselves continues;
We being caged and considered
Refugees in this, our homeland!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
Deception has always been
A strategy and ally of injustice;
Veiling its ruthless deeds,
And shifting attention
From age-old atrocities,
While living and percolating
Behind invisible Jericho walls:-
In today’s political drought,
Drying out justice and equity,
We are in as much profound need
Of raining clouds of liberty, as would be
Nature in times of drying pandemic drought:
Hey!
Wake up, my people!
Wake up!
It’s here again!
Let me rest,
For now I am tired of these quests.
What prize for me awaits?
Those hollow salutes and opened gates?
Or those meretricious praise that would echo,
When all I remember is catastrophic derecho?
Or the Olympus you promise with Canephor,
While all I yearn is peaceful plains and zephyr.
Or the victory parades in Roma you were storytelling,
While those 23 backstabs in my mind are dwelling.
Or those meadows habited with Nymphs?
While all I yearn is a solitary pond hazed by mist.
Or those kingdoms you promised of evergreen reign?
While all I yearn is the slow pit patter from canopy rains.
All you promise is a conquest full of allure and shine.
But what will you tell to those kids mourning and crafting shrines?
So let me walk away to where savannah's sway,
As I am exhausted of this reaper's haunting play.
So now let me rest, as I am haunted and tired of these quests.
Let me breathe where laws of nature weave,
Solitary where I can grieve.
Black without a mask
What would it look like to be black without a mask?
Would it look like freedom?
Or would they laugh?
At our attempt to be ourselves
To feel like we can tell the world
That we are fighting back
That we are tired of being attacked
That we are human and you should respect that
Maybe it would feel like a weight removed
Like entering a sunlit room
Like when flowers finally bloom
Like when the sky shows you the moon
And you know it's time to for bed
And you can rest your head
After a long day That had you stressed
What would it feel to burn that mask ?
Would it feel cathartic
Being black and being free from the curse of having to act robotic
In a world that wants us to shrink
And overthink our emotions
Maybe it would feel like letting go of a deep breath
Or waking up from a nap refreshed
If only racism didn't exist
We wouldn't have to dream of this
We'd have the privilege
Of freeing our emotions