Anchor
The waters no longer hot, just a cold depthless sea.
The young girls shackle was a perfect miraculous fit.
dragging her to the depths of the shallow box;
the anchor that would sit.
Her locks of hair were dripping-
a drip for all her anguish,
that would send the box spilling.
Thus she stayed silent,
pop, bam, bang for every bubble that popped-
a new batch would flock.
Lifting up her arms in despair,
she looked at the radiant circle.
It wasn't fair.
The circle bulged created by man,
but she couldnt even use her hand-
to get out of the cell, it would be a bore.
For she had the capacity for no more,
She wailed and cried and still couldn't thrive.
For her smile was deprived.
Was the bath ever even hot?
or had she forgot-
to turn the tap and make it hot.
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