Cabin fever; a common theme
Of nights extant and loaded dreams
Of flowers red and blooming gold
Of music played and stories told.
We took our chance dressed in white
Like Icarus we made our flight
And suffered the same fate to fall
Flat on the floor, the ceiling, the wall.
No more cups to shelter within
No more shields behind our grins
We broke from that, severed ties
Packed our things and made to fly.
What fools we were to hold those dreams
Things fell apart at every seam
The chains were on, the knives were sharp,
But hope stayed buried in our hearts.
No comments:
Post a Comment