Thursday, February 28, 2013

Lamb on the Lam

Twenty minutes on the clock
The face of my free spirit
Against the window pain
Of my working soul
Looking out to the forest
Through subjected eyes
Would jump through the pane
And frolic like a spring lamb
But the wolves of hunger
Snarl at dreams on the lam
And keep me punching in
And punching out
Penned inside a body
Enslaved by brick walls.

1 comment:

  1. Oh I so know that feeling, Libby. There were years I felt I only existed, doing a job I hated, to haul bags of groceries in the front door. This will eventually ease . Meanwhile I so know the looking out the window, longing to escape!


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