The roundness of my fears, the despair
caught clinging under chains, how I could seem so
singular and solitary. My watery eyes gaze
up at milky grey skies. I can't

feel the weight of my
arms anymore. The pen I hold
hangs still with no intent but to

be in place, where I can see her. The
thoughts are cradled beyond that which
I can see in this space. In exposed symmetry,
they are staring, down

at the abyss. How I could fall, with arms
open wide to death and delivery. Then I’d
not have to think of this desolation that
comes over me, so deeply. I could be at one with

my peace and my pain. Never ending ties to
the earth as the air tries to lift me. Some bizarre
moment that I could detach, and fly through these
grim skies. They are my salvation and

my jail.

© 2006