Where?
“Where am I?”
The man asked,
Passing thoughts and sounds in unstable reverie,
Favors, he gave,
Enslave his consciousness,
People he loved,
Rejecting his esteem,
Steam rises from the boiling cauldron of his regret,
And in a jacket so tight that he can’t feel his hands,
He asks, “Where am I?”
Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2008
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