Thursday, June 30, 2016


Taking Off

My mood is bottled up inside
I would that it be owl in flight
Or ship that speeds across the sea
Not anchor stuck inside of me

A weight that keeps me here aground
With few sweet chances to abound
The television stares at me
And seems to mock my stuck esprit

The phone is silent as a tomb
The flowers here refuse to bloom
They’re brown and wilted, so forlorn
Like anger from a heart that’s torn

Like bright balloons adrift in sky
Someday my joy will float that high

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