Money is my shackles,
I never have enough
and when I think I have
everything feels daft,
without sense and
meaningless.
Words are my shackles,
the right ones never come out,
sometimes they don’t come out at all.
It makes me mad, I’ve lost so much,
Words… make me out of touch.
Past is my shackles,
my soul is chained by time,
with every step I take
another link is added to the chain.
It keeps me bound,
tied up by a cliff,
washed every day by the river of time.
I see the future,
I reach my hand to touch it.
I cannot.
Image source:Pixabay
This is the first poem I've wrote in the past weeks. And I think this says a lot. I don't have the time. Or the mood. Or maybe everything is just a lie. I don't know. Regardless, hope you enjoy this and if you like it, maybe give it an upvote as well.
