Friday, November 3, 2017

Tower Without Workers

The bars across the sky are your prison.
Unresponsive eyes guard your thoughts
From extending past your expanse of breath.
There are no words that are yours anymore
— The books now read "Property Of ..." and say you're wrong.

It's as if you've woken up
In a cottage on an endless field.
This is freedom — unyielding and cold.
How unappealing the evening heaven sky seems.
How easily everything burns.

You must turn away
For the fire inside your being,
Leave the alluvial shores behind
To where there's only the One,
A club that only the unescorted can join.

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