Caged

What is this place

We call the world?

I feel myself slipping away

From what used to be meaning

My existence feels dark

Wondering how much longer

I can hold myself up in this emptiness

Others move on

They leave this place

As more and more stray off far away

This town begins to feel like more of a cage

The bars come close

Until they suffocate the cells in my skin

And restrain me from becoming something more

So many things to consider

Choices to be made

Paths to follow

The obstacles built from concrete

No abstract paintings to jump through

No mercy for the unsatisfied soul

Endless answerless questions

Running through the untidy streets of my mind

Bloody handprints clawing to escape

Where is the will upon desire?

Where is the freedom among change?

Must words be so direct, so understandable

In order to be accepted?

Or can insanity live among the sane?

What is this place?

Am I alone in my thoughts?

Reviews

[bobby]

You are not alone. These are eternal questions. The juxtpositioning of words play obliquly curious against my mind. Yet quickly I understand the impossible you question. Do you read Pablo Narada? You remind me of his work.