By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )
A circle turns endlessly within itself,
silent and whole,
its edges soft but never breaking.
I held a thread,
an escape I thought was mine,
but it unravels,
disappearing back into the pattern.
No cracks, no doors,
just walls pressing gently,
reminding me I am held
by the boundaries I made.
A maze of fleeting thoughts,
each step a question,
but the answer is always the same,
woven in patterns I can’t unsee.
I stretch, I pull,
but the line stays taut
not even I can unravel it.
The exception remains a ghost,
slipping through my grasp,
as I stand still
in the rule I can’t escape.
By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )
Commentaires