Outward Appearance

March 30, 2009
Our faces look similar as infants.
Is that my mother or my sister?

But when truth hits it
Flat on your back.

It is neither.

A mere reflection of innocence.
A moment captured. Frozen in time.

That child has
No character.
No prejudices.
No biases.
No sufferings.
She will change.

Not quite ready
To grow into her own person.

As infants, we look similar.
Not anymore..
As we grow older, we grow farther apart.
Through appearances

But also through our thoughts and beliefs.
And gradually

We melt that picture,
And we are free.

And yet.
And yet.
That little voice that whispers:

Or is it the other way around?

We are born free and
Are slowly imprisoned
By our own

Losing the
only thing that ever mattered.

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