Sublime Incarceration
Bound to chains that do not make the slightest sound
I am tied down to the floor secured to the ground
These chains have no lock or any key
Nothing can break them for you or for me
They are made of love the strongest of glue
Undeniable unbreakable and true
Connected heart to heart mind to mind
These are the strongest links we will ever find
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© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.
Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent
and any written material is owned solely by the above named.
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what it’s not
What I feel is
droplets dripping
gently onto that spot
between my shoulders
descending from a tangled
mess of wet hair pulled back
from my face
soft sand
grainy under my feet
welcoming my toes to
sink into its depth
cool liquid
swirling around me
ebbing and flowing
against my frame
it's not
the shattering beneath
my rib cage from an old wound
reminding me of fracture
it's not
the empty space
aching dully
filled only with lost things
it's not
the mad whirl of
thoughts washing me up
on abandoned shoreline
No,
what I see is
shimmery sunshine
glinting off turquoise
creating thousands of
shining little lights
stretching wide in front of me
sand-colored crabs
barely bigger than a fingernail
anticipating my every footstep
scampering back to underground caves
before any accidental contact
a lone leaf
tumbling down the beach
happily succumbed to the
whims of the wind
on its journey
it's not
the image of myself
replaced
bit by bit
piece by piece
in that space in your bedroom
in your kitchen
in your living room
it's not
the way the world
moves on
whether I stand still paralyzed
or rush to catch up
it's not
the picture of a girl
timid, unsure
looking in the mirror
a slight frown
turning down her lips
disheartened with the reflection
No,
what I hear is
a wonderful quiet
interrupted only by
leaves lightly rustling
touched by the breeze
distant engines echoing
taking someone
to or from somewhere
the foamy crash
of waves meeting shore
a soothing lullaby
with varied endless tempo
it's not
the voices whispering
that it's too late
that I don't have
what it takes
what others have in spades
it's not
the sound of
my own voice cracking
asking you not to leave
while you looked at me
with sad eyes
from across the bed
or my soft voice
telling him it was okay to go
while I held his hand
and he laid there
eyes closed on a hospital bed
No,
it is none of these things
It is heat
pure on my skin
It is beads of sweat
trickling down hollows and curves
It is stillness
It is calm
until
the heady warmth disappears,
moody clouds roll in,
the wind picks up,
the sea turns frantic,
everything is
darker,
cooler,
tense,
electric,
Filling my lungs with air,
I ignore the signs
shut my eyes
stay where I am