The Thought Process
The marbles, dispersed, and unconstrained float carelessly,
Magnetise,
Mobilise,
Into perfect linearity.
As the magnetic force begins to falter, the marbles begin to fray,
I find myself between realities,
Of which neither I can appease,
The delineation between chaos and order grow evermore astray.
There are no gaps here in linearity,
None through which for me to fall,
Not a gap in between which I can crawl.
Though in the safety of constraint I am, in fact, unfree.
The marbles, in linearity, and constrained, they are perfunctory,
De-magnetise,
De-mobilise
Imperfectly, into uncertain foray and insensible folly.
Copyright © Rebecca Huxley | Year Posted 2017
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