221. Freedom


These thoughts, but ropes
Ropes clung by hands
Hands of this wooden mind
Mind afloat, on paths engraved in eyes
Eyes, tethered thus by threads
Threads of swung feelings

These thoughts, but clay
Clay, lovelorn as starved souls
Souls clung on our motherly hands
Hands to touch, till they breathe
Breath ours, yet not in our clasp
Clasp could we, tethered by this freedom

image: rosiesnotred.deviantart.com


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