The Grind
Wanted from the world,
The debt of responsibility
Preys on her mind
And weighs down her soul,
Clinging sticky
Like a spot of amber tree sap,
Cavalierly touched,
And afterwards offensive.
The grinding stone of expectations
Moves stolidly round and
About the kernels of
Vanishing freedom,
Ground into the grit
Of everyday existence.
Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006
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