Is freedom a return to bondage?

When from our exile 

we run screamin' and fussin' 

it's not because we hate living 

but that the barbeque is gone.

We sit at the empty tables 

staring across to hollow faces  

wond'ring what happened 

on the fields of the slaughtered.

A depressing state of aloneness

 longing the abandoned Massa 

while starving in the savannas 

near food surrounding water 

awaiting a motive to claim it 

permission to want to live.  

What might we be in Egypt 

where Nile rivulets run sweet 

where frog legs abound for breakfast 

and the Massa makes us clean?  

Is this a place for vision?

Is wisdom worth seizing here? 

Is freedom a return to bondage

when the Lord has set you free?

There is power in that moment 

when truth might cause you bleed 

when visions are looking forward

toward unimagined lands.

Pilate, where are you hiding with washed hands?  The crowd wants blood.  You supply it in abundance as you slip back into the palace.  The guilty may be these but others hide theirs behind the quartered flesh of others.  Is it better that one or two or more die than that truth prevail?