Spirals

Drifting through despair,

The emptiness tingles.

My soul quivers

At the tickling breeze

Of meandering routine,

The repetition of work,

And the high-pitched whistling

Of idle conversation.

The circular motion

Of a life without purpose,

A mind without focus,

And feet without direction,

All come together for an

Absurd account of a life lived

Without meaning.

Freedom comes with its own

Heavy chains,

And a weight that is a

Painful, woe-some

Burden to bare.

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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