Untitled 3
By Doret67
My heart crys out from its prison, longing for someone to free it. I long for the freedom of his arms and the touch of his lips, As he whispers again the words that enslaved me beyond reason. But he stands, unwilling to grant me that freedom, or to free me from himself. He watches carefully that my heart strays not, yet he does not want me. I am a curiosity, I who cannot free myself. He knows his power and must keep it. He is the gatekeeper Of a menagerie of one lost soul. If someone can free me, Come soon, or I will waste into the dust from which I was formed. Written April 26th, 1963 © on Oct 24 2001 12:54 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"My heart crys out from its prison, longing for someone to free it...."