Look to your feet, to earth and the ground.
Are there woven chains with which you are bound?
When you move your arms when you dance around.
Do you not hear the haunting sound?
Does your throat chafe with restriction.
Is your skin not torn and ripped from the friction
The immutable chains, the contradiction.
Do you hear the sound?
and see weary fingers as they tie you down.
Do you not notice the faintest scar
and see the truth of who and what you are?
YOU ARE READING
Kangaroo Court
Поэзия"This is the place where Ideas go to die... The resting grounds of stories who shan't see the sky... A Kangaroo court for the ideas left unspun... Where the choice is made if a tale should go unsung."
