Note: This is an excerpt from a novel I have in the works, just parts of a few paragraphs reworked into a poem.
She could see human forms
Walking in the heavy mist that expanded through her mind.
Dancers and artists shifted by,
Musicians carrying instruments in black cases,
Writers with inky fingers and minds more absent than her own.
The forms, however, held no faces,
Only blank spaces
That cried with longing to be filled,
To be seen with her real eyes, not her mind’s,
And reaching hands implored her
To come, to leave, to run.
She had to go somewhere,
Her legs were waking.
She had to see things,
For her eyes watered
At the thought of all that the world was full of,
All the things she did not know,
All of the time she did not have,
That was ticking away with each breath that was drawn from her lungs.
The moonlight shone over the land beyond the walls,
And glittered on the asphalt road
That disappeared around a bend.
That road went somewhere,
Far off to another road
Pacing out new paths
To new places,
And her feet tapped in frustration
She wanted desperately to go and run quickly,
To see and breathe deeply,
And to do it all now
And for as long as possible.
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