We Are Not Yet Free

And I begin with the eyes of a man
So broken, so tired!
From his feet, torn up from the marching of the distance
Necessary for respect, to his lips, that he slaps his tongue across to wet them,
To get more voice to keep speaking.
For this man loves another man, but to you he’s a sinner?
When do you draw the line between a murderer of a human and a lover of another?
I’ll do it now to keep distinction between the hurtful and the amorous.
This man, is not yet free to do what he wants.