selective focus photo of grass field
Photo by Stanislav Kondratiev on Pexels.com


She was trapped behind iron bars,

Blinded by their glow;

Distracted by the glittering shine,

So much she didn’t know,

That she had built herself a cage,

And though it may look pretty,

She was a prisoner of the things,

She thought would make her free.

The cage was large and blocked her view

Of rolling fields and sunshine.

The roof was thick and left her cold,

And trapped in darkness, blind.

You might say, in a way, she’s free,

For she’d chosen this prison;

She’d stepped right through the shining bars,

And into desolation.

If only she could catch a glimpse,

Of clouds sailing in the sky,

Or smell the scent of wildflowers,

Or feel a breeze sweep by,

Would she realize that she was trapped

In a cage within her mind?

Or would she shut cling to her false home,

With no light left to find?

Inside her pretty palace,

Where beauty passed her by;

Inside her horrid prison,

Built of fears and lies.

She has but to step through the bars,

And feel the glowing sun,

And see the beauty of the world,

As the day is begun,

But until then, she’ll cower,

Where she feels it’s best to be,

Within the false, bright glitter,

So bright she cannot see.

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