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Our hands shaped like cages.
Cages shaped in the deformities of our hands.

Stoic fingers as rusty girdles,
Grainy textures as the bare calluses of our hands.

Trap.
Grasshoppers.
Trap.
The Sun.
Trap.
Our lovers hearts.
Within it’s moral confines.

Casually unlearn the truth that
confinement leaves it absent of light,
rid of it’s senescent glow,
dead to grow.

Our hands shaped like cages.
Cages shaped in the deformities of our hands.
Lars Kadel Mar 2017
You are standing
on a great, grassy
field as far as your eyes
can see. The ground
is firm, there is a peaceful
wind in the air
gently rustling your hair.
This is not what you expected.
You had anticipated
explosions, yelling,
a thud on the wall
that sounds like someone's
skull is being hit by
the house phone!
But no,
the field is
the serene place,
the confinement
that is childhood.
It is an illusion.
It never existed.
Lianna Walters Dec 2016
We confine ourselves
To the love we believe we deserve
Breeze-Mist Oct 2016
Give a man a room
With a bed and an endless kitchen
And a door and a window
And he will live in the room
He may go outside often
But he will always come back
And maybe
In time
He'll bring back new things
And he'll add to the room

Take away the door
And he might stay in for months
Before he can't take it anymore
And climbs out the window
Never to return

Take away
The window and then door
And the man
Failing to break through the walls
Will either
Tear up the room with graffiti and flames
Or
Resign himself to a corner for weeks

Either way, he will destroy himself
If he has not way out

So it only makes sense
To give the man
A windows and a door
And to have a little faith in him
As he meets the world
Pauline Morris Jul 2016
There was a bird that grew up caged
It didn't know it should be enraged
It had seen other birds fly
Thought to it's self "they are going to die"
For from what it had lived and witnessed
It thought they must have a sickness
To make them fly
Way up there in the sky
In it's cage it was quite content
Never knowing what for, it's wings where ment
So it thought the other birds where more than bent

Are you like that little bird
Thinking that flying is quiet absurd
Are you locked in a cage of your own design
Content to live your life so confined
Take a closer look and open up your mind
Barnaby Harrison Mar 2016
Frail I am in this windswept and wave battered shack;
Forsooth this be thy home next to the pebbled track
Which runs alongside the barren lands of this bay.
Time sweeps past like the wind whispering with dismay,
Telling of the malignant humans, all but possessed,
I used to walk with those humans, all well dressed
And now set in the stones that line their graves.
I wish, oh I wish thy could have helped and saved
The fragile bodies that now lie skeletal along the sands
That used to ring with cries of joy like the musical bands
Playing so nearby in the bandstands of our city.
More a village twas but still such a song filled and pretty;
The same village now plagued with the deathly sights
Of darkened, dismal days and dank, musty nights
Truth be told I want to return to that heavenly place
But tis this shack that is my pen, my metal cell
Lying next to what is left of the place that fell.
Kale Feb 2016
It is happening again
The confinement
Due to my insecurities.
The depression caused
by my traumatized mind.
I need to escape
This dark fate
Where I ultimately
Come to my
End.
Kenshō Jun 2015
738 days in and it feels like prison;
To cast my will away would be to sign up for life.
Chains strewn throughout,
Held down, but nothing to grasp.
Grasping is the temptation of the Devil;
Twiddling idle minds, like thumbs.
-
WJ Niemand Apr 2015
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement

There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb

still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above

they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars

but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim

their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers

alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins

the world is not enough
because we are not enough
K Balachandran Apr 2015
There is a heavily barred chamber between,
the bitter end of reality and the dream gone dark,
she was locked up there with a window open
to the nightmare created with marvelous illusions.
with a start, she saw little angels with clipped wings
looking out through the gaps of barbed wires
of a window, more of a hole on the wall, on the top floor.

They looked too young, trapped, blooming buds,
and they started to wave wildly at her, perhaps
thinking she could somehow help, take them out,
she felt dazed, as if a poison arrow hit her chest,
everything was dipping in dark, didn't look good at all,
felt like crying, she remembered, tears dried up, long before

from a safe distence seeing all this he felt crying out loud,
but didn't forget, he is only a butterfly, with fragile wings.
a girl with painted lips, he noticed was blowing a kiss
to a man in the balcony, perhaps.he didn't clearly see
his face, but why such affection, they didn't look like lovers!

The setting sun, he thought was fiercely crying,
with, heat , light and deepening shadows, that dance,
her eyes, indolent, fixed on a flower bed, a girl was
talking to her lover boy"Äll good things in life dwindle"
as if suggesting it's all over once and for all between them,
close by sitting on  a tired flower, preparing to close,
the butterfly saw the swarms of bees of night, approaching.
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