Journal: Where Does Sense Live?

Journal: Where Does Sense Live?

In the palm of my hand that’s damp with tears of fear and frustration

In something deep dark and empty- a tiny ember of logic and reason

ready to grow into a steady flame.

The iris of my eye-wide with with doubt and disbelief at the course

of a life taken-reins grabbed without permission by an insipid yet

temporal force of madness.

In the weak bones of my knees that creak after long sleepless nights

The stiff popping of joints and protests of tightrope tight hamstrings

A tightness that extends down the back of my shin to rest at the base

of my ankle, pulling ever so insistently with each step I take

Does it live in those quick first steps that turn to the heavy

footfalls of running feet?

No, not running- fleeing feet that fly only in my dreams

Fly in escape from an island of lost hope once called home


© Chloe Miller-Bess 2016



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