A PRISON OF MY OWN MAKING

A PRISON OF MY OWN MAKING

 

I was at the door,

I stood right there on the threshold,

And freedom was just a couple of seconds more,

After years of crawling,

In the mediocrity of darkness below ground,

The open sky was a few steps away,

Waiting,

To feel my wings in flight.

 

To soar,

I only had to reach,

I was going to,

Until I looked backward,

To the comforts of familiarity that beckoned,

And willingly went back into chains,

Because I was afraid,

Of the uncertainty that came with change.

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