Thursday, June 9, 2011



Someone put him in a box
And threw away the key.
In his solid state,
He lays an egg,
That no one sees but He.

A violin begs a rising chord,
And soothes the foetal truth within.
Waking and breaking,
From shell of spiky sleep,
He accepts, for the first time, the chance to win.

Walking the corridors, his ankles chained,
Horizons expanding with intake of breath.
Cold turkey, clear vision,
A life to live;
No longer excited by freedom of death.

Maureen Walsh - June 2011

Ciao for now

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