Nowhere to Go
Underneath crystal blue skies
She yearns to be touched
By the soft fingers of tomorrow
Instead,
The roots wrap around her ankles
Not quite shackles,
But still yet there.
On each breeze
Comes the faint scent of freedom,
She steps, against better judgement.
Stiletto breaks in the tepid mud.
Maybe it’s just not the right time.
2 thoughts on "Nowhere to Go"
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I kept thinking about her, who was in her mind. The stiletto breaking in tepid mud. Evoked for me a feeling of being ready to step out, but finding oneself caught in boredom. There’s a claustrophobic feeling, in spite of the breeze and sky – those roots she seems to be afraid to call a prison. Loved it.
really like “soft fingers of tomorrow”