• Tricia D. Wagner

#21 Glass Box


This box confines,

its glass defines,

it offers me

stability.

So here, I dance,

I posture, prance.

This box bears weight

of even hate.

Its crystal walls

defend from falls.

Entitled here -

a privileged dear.

What happens, though,

when fortunes throw

steel shrapnel, wreaking,

sharp winds, shrieking?

The glass, in pieces,

status ceases.

However - does it?

A lifted chin.

A look within.

Daylight on lies -

an ego dies.

Sweeping shattered

shards with battered

feet I find

myself unblind.

To nothing strong

do I belong-

stability, then

wakes in me.

© 2015 by Tricia D. Wagner. Proudly created with Wix.com

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