She stares at the soft carpet surrounding her.
Below is the indented cushion of a worn out pew.
So many hours spent here, in this exact spot.
No change to spark the slightest of flames.
No feeling so overcoming or new.
The daughter of a preacher must do as she's told.
Expectations hold a grip tighter than a knoose.
"You know better."
"I expect more from you."
The pressure might as well come with chains.
The feeling of a represed spirit in a place so "freeing".
The mirror only reflects what you want it to see.
The pulpit only sees what it wants you to reflect.
The amount of disappointment she saves
only grows each day she is saved.
Saved from what, though?
Herself? The world? Her thoughts, perhaps?
No, she is saved from the very people who sit beside her.
She's not ignorant.
She knows what goes on behind closed doors.
The sad thing is not her desire to leave,
It is that once gone, she never existed.
The service will continue,
and the spot will be filled by someone else.
Someone just as blind, hoping to see.
She loves those next to her,
But love is not what pushes her to leave .
Her dreams can not be fullfilled inside four walls.
The only walls she wants to see are ruined.
Other places that might as well be other worlds.
The man speaking slowly stops.
He looks at her with such pride,
With the shadow of a tear in his eye.
He was sitting there many years ago,
Her thoughts were once his.
The pews know what only those two believe.
That a life in a pew, is not a life.
She will remain seated.
Her dreams, the only excape to her wishes.