Shackles of Freedom

A cloying sweetness that binds you to itself
And leaves you with a sense of void
Your soul cries out in silent desperation
‘Please … I need to be free’

You want to listen, and you almost do
Hush ..say no more, lest they hear.. for they must not
Because, to be truly free means to barter away
your life, your calling, your big dream, your pound of flesh

And so the sickly sweet non-existence spews out
one Monday at a time, one ‘deadline’ at a time

All you want to do is sit by the ocean
Watching the sun set
The warm breeze in your hair
The sand beneath your feet

Yet what you really see
Is that tiny crab burrowing back into its hole
While your soul gently whispers
‘O mirror, mirror on the wall, who am I?’


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