a poem on freedom

I am a man bound by freedom
I am so free that time and time again
my freedom constantly binds me
am I a slave to my own freedom?
sometimes I'm so free I cant even see the sky
and I'm so bound that I can run like an arabic horse

standing on a platform
made by fools for fools
am I a fool like them?
perhaps yes
I've sold myself to my own freedom
I am not as cool tempered as I used to be
I am not as loving as I used to be

Oh! hell!!
I have not even sold my soul to the devil
as Marlowe's Doctor Faustus did
I dont even practice some occult bullshit
like Aleister Crowley
so that qualifies me to be burnt alive
just like you fools burnt Joan of Arc
yet there is a void within me
seems like I have finally sold my soul
not to the devil....but to my own freedom
and the price???