Song of Unrest

Posted: December 12, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

New chains are chiming

along the floor,

a cold wind howls

through the open door,

and I sit here

in a musty old chair,

torn past recognition.

This home wasn’t built to last,

like my decisions, it was not cast

in metal, but in plaster

which has begun to crack.

There are no lights,

no complications.

I sit in shadow,

without anticipation.

I have seen the world outside.

Nothing waits for me there.

For now, I will rest here.

This home wasn’t built to last,

like my decisions, it was not cast

in metal, but in plaster

which has begun to crack.

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