These Four Walls
These four walls, how they stifle.
How they bind and choke.
Their cheap white paint
Seems to whisper:
Let me go!
Is this not a home,
Soft and safe,
Friend of one and all?
But a cell,
Narrow and close,
Bereft of fresh air,
Bidding me stay.
Tis danger out there.
No, the danger is here,
Not to my flesh,
More, to my soul.
The danger is here,
Inside these four walls.
Copyright © Ellen Gwaltney Bales | Year Posted 2025
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