Freedom is that which we cannot attain
We labour to find it but our search is in vain.
When I say we can't reach it it's a bit of a lie.
But all that WE do will fall slightly shy.
Not being born is where freedom lies.
For in our birth, our own freedom dies
And when we die it is us that they mourn.
But in our death, our freedom is born.
In Christ we live, and we are free.
But our freedom the eye cannot see.
Our freedom is this: being bound to His will.
To have living water and to drink our fill.
This poem was a finalist in the September 2005 poetry contest