
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.