You ask, "Are you free?"
My dear, more imprisoned I couldn't be.
My own prisoner, I am, a prisoner of my mind,
My own mind, so cruel and unkind.
Bound by my own chain of thought,
Such injustice to myself I've wrought.
Closer and closer encroaches the dark,
On me, it leaves its sinister mark
The voices in my mind never quieten down,
In the darkness in myself, I slowly drown
You say, "Tell me how free you are in a word".
"Well", I say, "I'm free as a jailbird"
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Being a jailbird.
This is my personal favorite so far. What do you think ?
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Wordalmania
Poésie#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016
