Trapped

The Sunday Muse # 191

Fearful, doubtful 

Through and through

An outcast.

Skin permeates 

In deep oceans

As a pariah out on a prowl.

People are objects

Detested and tested

In tiny cells of curtains.

How ugly can one become

Within the chains of closed doors.

A  catastrophe dances

 Inside and outside

Isn't that how it has been

for the past few years?

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Senses

 A short life

Timed and cursed 

Carries the debts of needs.

Shivering existence 

Wails in winters

Searching warmth 

In invisible arms.

The Voice

 The Sunday Muse #189

You feel like December, my friend

Cool, cozy, warm, and woozy

You smell of pines and woods

And long-forgotten fairy tales.

You are the wanderer of the dark forces

For me, a boon from the ancient voices

You understand the silent pleas 

And the danger of lurking fears.

We know how far we have come

From the wild ways to  a comfort zone

In this cacophonous world

It gets lonely and dangerous even for a child.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse