women, children, land, money, glory, what are these things without freedom? nothing. and what is freedom without these things? nothing. so why do we chase after such things? my heart longs to be free, but my find wonders what my heart wishes to be free from. my feet long to walk on unspoiled ground, but my eyes cannot find it. my ears wish to listen to nature as god had intended, and my nose to sample wild air; but there is none left. each morning i am greeted with the pale face of death. he wears my skin. in his eyes i see my own. sunken, and filled with grief and care. my skin rides on his face like a sack of burlap and dries itself on his bones. yet, with all this, my heart continues to bleed and struggle on. i feel as though i were rotting, like an abandoned house left to the wild. no one resides in my shell. the soul of my people have long since been bought, traded, and killed. there is nothing left for me here. i must become as my face, pale, a ghost. i must be brave. my heart must be brave.
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