And You are Free. Poetry.

Four walls, clear as mountain air.

You walk one’s length, then another

and another

and another.

You are trapped

and your breaths are a dragon’s fire

escaping your tightened throat.

You kick, you punch, you slam your head

until the walls are scarlet-stained.

A door appears.

It has a knob that will not turn

and the door is reflective, a mirror.

You see the walls behind you

but not yourself.

You fall. You cry. Tears stain cheeks once red with rage.

You ask,

“Why?”

“Why did they do this to me?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

And more tears.

Then

in the midst of your pain

you see.

And you stand.

You are there

in the doorway mirror.

You grasp the knob and it turns

on silken wings of awareness.

And you are free.

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