Quiet as a mouse,
She is.
Oh how quiet she must be,
To have all those thoughts and designs,
Hidden inside
With each stroke,
Her brush tells a story.
That only her mind can see.
Vibrant and set loose,
She wants to sing.
She longs for the cage,
For her to open and let us see.
She can't,
There's not a single possibility,
Yet she longs and craves,
To be liberated,
Set loose
But only her and
The truth
Can see her
free.
YOU ARE READING
The Roads Taken
PoetryLife is a series of trials and errors, One would like to say that we're perfect but we aren't. Humans are the only species to be perfectly imperfect, the imperfections that we dwell on in ourselves and in others tends to be the ones connected with t...
