Your words cage my Body,
But Lines do not define
Nor do Boundaries hold.

Clip these Wings,
Ah, but Flight will not leave me.
Hold me to the Ground,
Oh, but how high I will soar.

Capture me.
Hide me from the world.
Haunt me.

But I will never leave my Cloud.
You see, some are meant to fly.
Some are meant to swim;
Some are meant to run.

Your chains cannot hold
The Strength of the Brave ones.
We will fly.
We will swim.
We will run.

The professor mounted himself in front of the dim room. His questions shackled the students, and his beady eyes craved for attention. The jail cell fell silent, and eye contact hid behind textbooks.

Panic dripped through the air while he patrolled the spacious, white room. The slightest movement could target the next victim. One of the few in the front line of fire, a woman struggled to listen. Her hands hid her young face from the interrogation. She held her breath, drowning in the silence.        

A tardy innocent fumbled through the silence when entering the room. The student’s footsteps echoed as he crawled to a desk in the back of the classroom. The interruption allowed the tension to lift, causing the professor to execute the lecture.      

The young lady exhaled nervously, and her attention drifted out of her shackles. The clock taunted through her tired mind. She thirsted for an escape, to be a refugee. The few minutes remaining in class stabbed through her.

Her eyes wandered across the students next to her. They focused on the professor, took notes; they were alive. She continued observing: why could she not be like the other students?

Instead, she rotted in her chair and in her body, waiting for the class to finish. She wanted to escape. She wanted to be free. She wanted to live.

Gods, We are,
unaware of Our powers.
The ground sighs and shakes beneath Our feet,
the sky stirs around Our heads,
the ocean cries in Our presence.

Sun is in Each of Us,
We are Light.
Moon haunts Each of Us,
We are Darkness.
The stars are Our guides,
they serve no other purpose.
The flowers are Our beauty,
they sway in the wind We blow.

Yes, there are conflicts,
the World is in chaos,
worry, fear, regret,
darkness, and death are Our own.

But, Dear, the World was made for You,
the air is Your blanket, the stars are Your night light when unwelcomed visitors sweep in Your dreams, the mountains are Your strength when You are weak, the World is Yours.
The World is not in possession,
You cannot disappoint it.

Gods, We are,
only victims to Our own hesitations.