ODE TO FREEDOM

To all who wished that I were dead,

To those who pressed upon my wounds while I still bled,

To those who scorned me, mocked me, did me wrong,

To those who thought I'd lose my way before too long,

To those who found delight within my grief,

To those who sentenced me to shame beyond relief—

Loyal foes, faceless strangers, faithless friends,

What more could I ask? How less could I care?

Worn down and filthy, broken beyond repair,

Yet here I stand, sovereign –

Like a golden arch rooted deep within the ground,

And the crown of triumph resting on my brow.