She's stuck in a beautiful daydream,
Far away from this microcosm,
Of chains and boulders,
And nudging shoulders,
Telling her to move,
Pushing her here and there,
Not really regarding her,
As herself,
But more as a structure,
Of intertwining vessels and rushing blood,
With an impatient heart,
And a stubborn brain,
But no soul,
Yet flickers of yellow and orange,
Still creep past her irises,
As she looks at you,
And you can just see it,
She's found her place away from cruel reality,
Through the looking glass,
Where she can have a much simpler life,
Through the looking glass,
Where she doesn't have to deal with strife,
Through the looking glass,
Where she can lose herself,
In her imagination,
But only temporarily,
She's a mandala of intricacy,
An agonising eternal maze,
A path with no end or crossings,
A complicated case
Indeed.
YOU ARE READING
Book of poems
PoetryThis is basically going to be a book of any poems that I somehow manage to create in between writing my book, enjoy! I hope you can comment your interpretations of the poems and we can start a discussion on them:)
