Compress
My heart withers at the gates
of which exclude my soul,
For who guides my hand now
pushes the wind towards me,
for the fire that I can control
becomes unsteady.
My actions become a mirror,
one that can not trace
my actions,
but the opposite of my will
is shown.
For I am compressed,
A spring held down
for too long,
it’s shape is now finite,
and still.
Gravity has been hard pressed,
my minds stage has become
damaged.
Why do I feel to blame?
Copyright © Jordan Foster | Year Posted 2018
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