Sandbox
Imprisoned patched in pumpkin parachute,
Detained up-high by paper-airplane trails;
Vines draw a line through dirt urging dispute,
Between emotions locked in playground jails;
An epic battle waged of see-sawed thoughts,
Hacked anger versus calm forgiving tone;
Where punches land upon still tender spots,
From childish rants this bailiff claims as own;
Yet resolution now demands a shift,
As sonnets do when octaves run in place ;
I’m neither swing-set nor a schizoid miffed,
But grown-adult per hair seen on my face -
Aware, at last, a patient mind unlocks,
An end to quicksand fights inside a box
10/6/2016
Submitted for: 'Sandbox' Contest
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
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