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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest · #1465044
Being a servant to self is like being in prison
Such were some of you

Looking back on yesterday
my tangled mind recalls
the youth that I have wasted
within these prison walls.
-
Pastel faces tell it all
in words so hard to say
what time can only cover
but never take away.
-
Interwoven braids of fear
like branches on a tree
spread across my aging mind
in ways the world can't see.
-
And the dreams of finding gold
have turned the hair to grey
as a soft and broken man
relives his yesterday.

© Copyright 2008 James A. Osteen Jr. (poetman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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