As much as he tried she refused to waver Oh so easy to sink back into material comfort Those things kept the wolf from the door but starved the brain of nourishment Emboldened, and with a shake of the head, she never looked back
As hard as you might try I will never be controlled Thinking my spirit can be grounded By clipping my wings Will only make me run faster Like the wind I can never be caught I am free to blow whichever way I choose
I stare at the paper The type as black as my heart Bold as my actions I see my name and your name but my eyes refuse to go further The rest is a blurred mangle of words and emotions that delivered this decree
De Jackson is hosting Monday Quadrille at D’Verse Poets and she has prompted us with the word ‘Type’ A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words excluding the title
Abstract design of umbrellas flying over sea in the sky
Taking Flight – 2
Dreaming of another place and a different time keeps me centered My flights of fancy are an escape from the humdrum an outlet for frustration Carrying me above life’s traffic jam that tethers me to the mundane The irony? - That I willingly surrendered my freedom and compromised my future for a life of servitude and acquiescence
