Going, Going, Gone

Running.

Its not something

you can explain. A person has to experience it themselves. The scream that boils in your throat threatening to spill over. The way it feels to be trapped in a place with no way out; like an animal. The desperation tightening your chest as you crawl out the window. The contemplating. Will this be the fall that breaks me before I’m free? The rush you feel when you land and immediately sprint for the road. The freedom, the pure joy to be able to breathe and not fear the warden coming to lock you back into your cell. You cant explain Running, so hope you never have to.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Sona Wilae

Nice pace, nice form.