Freedom for a Minute

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Freedom for a Minute

Chaotic inside.
Go outside.
Still the chaos inside.
No sound.
Wanting the chaos to stop completely.
Breaking the surface.
Liquid rubies trickling down.
It stops only for a moment.
Completely outside now.
Watching from the corner of the room.
Seeing it but not feeling it.
Finally the chaos stops only to restart the cycle.

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

bones87’s Poems (3)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Slip Away 0
Freedom for a Minute 0
The Storm 1