Holly Krook Poet I do not know?

My Urn

I’m searching for a way our,
Hoping to find an open door
Looking for a familiar face
One I’ve seen before

The tears well up in my eyes 
And distort the only thing I see
The shadows feel like home
Yet prevent me to breathe

Every fracture in the seem 
Gives out a ray of light
A realization that this is factual 
Is penetrating my broken heart

Dust to dust and ash to ash
Is what I’m becoming in this urn of mine
Straining desperately to break free
Before it consumes my life

The shadows beckon me to reside
In this illusion of freedom
Telling me who I am
Or rather, who they want me to be

Disavowing this as truth
I languish over the possibility
That I’m killing myself slowly
As I’m declining the solace I find in you

So I ask you this question,
Do you, as do I 
Cry for the chance to breathe again
But yet in bitter anguish
Cry for the chance to die?

But does any of it matter?
Do you care?
The answer is answered
In your eyes as you stare

I’m trapped in this place
This urn where I am kept
Under your control
Where you laughed as I wept

I’m your prized possession
You won me fair and square
I am taken out to make you happy
Then thrown back in when your contentment is there

The questions linger
As I lay quiet
My piece of mind is lost
Trampled in the riot

Will I ever be free
I suppose it’s up to me
Or will I die
In this urn of mine

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