My legs have gone numb.
I can't move my feet
To reach
Home.
My arms are limp,
Fingers cold,
Resting,
pressing,
On the still colder ground.
My mind is static.
My head
Is full
Of dead
Air.
But my heart is on fire,
Burning,
Yearning,
Severed on a spire
For what is rightfully no
Other's, but is drifting from me,
Further with further yet to go.
This thing of mine, it flies,
Adventuring,
Discovering,
Growing,
Going,
Where I do not dare to go,
Where I am forbidden to go
By these walls,
And these halls,
And these unspoken rules
Which have been established between
A gash in what should be clean.
I have given up the fight
Of my plight.
I cannot surmount
The walls.
I cannot escape the labyrinth of
The halls.
I can no longer search for a hole
In the rules.
I simply cannot win.
YOU ARE READING
Poems that Nobody Reads
PoesíaA collection of poems that I write that everyone thinks are stupid (and they're probably right).
