Chains (a poem)

I’m sometimes a rebel,

with fists in the air

Striking out at the world

That is seemingly set against me

(Perhaps it’s all in my head)…

I am some times meek

But very rarely

Too proud, too set in my ways

These days I’d ratherĀ 

Tell off a driver who justĀ 

Cut me off, but he has no clue…

Ah but perhaps these seasons

These emotions, turning like turbulent weather

Will cast me down

Will grow a bitter root deep down within me…

Perhaps this…right here, right now

Is my wake up call

My siren’s song

The swan song waiting to be played

Perhaps, as the sun begins to wane

And set that with it these chains

will fall heavily to the floor

And never more will they hold

Me poor and wretched…

Perhaps.

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