
Weighted and shackled, I struggle on
Knowing the cost of surrender is high
Endless worlds spiraling outward
As Divinity’s quill passes by
I beg a little of that inspiration
A chance to recapture that childhood dream
Then carried on a distant breeze, a whisper
“Take heart. Things are not what they seem.”
From here, I was taken – caught up by the wind
And reminded the Gods know no time like man
Then how can I say that it truly exists
If I’m but a speck on Their hand?
How little we know! Yet we call ourselves wise
And perhaps these shackles are of our own making
And all that I need for my own inspiration
Is to use the all the keys I’ve been keeping
Poetry Copyright © 2020 by Ena Whiteraven All rights reserved.
Image: found online, photographer unknown
This is so good.
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Thank you!
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