Closed Door
Behind the door
Lies the balm
To my heart sore
That refuses to be calm
I stretch my arms
To fling it open
But the qualm
Forces my limbs to soften
I squirm, I fret
The lack of steel
Pushes me into
The cavern of regret
The forces opposite
Squash my breath
I gasp like the fish
On the verge of death
I beg for mercy
Knowing my sin
To be born
With no strength within
Copyright © Sharmila Menon | Year Posted 2011
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