Sad She Sits
Sad she sits,
herself a chain,
that's locked and without key.
Not a tumble left undone,
and combination free.
Shaking has shackled shoe,
noisey within steps.
Ringing deeply tuned to tears,
soaked and deeply wet.
Screams they are her thunder,
lightning in her gaze.
The eye within the storm that brews,
want wash her pain away.
Sad she sits herself a chain.
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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