Learn more about other poetry terms
And the Giant sighed, grimace and frown as its impossible form was broken down. Bones like steel, warped and bent, and skin like leather, was easily rent. No sign its might, no courage seen,
What good are the "spacious skies," what good are the "amber waves," what good is the "purple mountain majesty" when we cannot enjoy them, when we are impounded, confined in the Prison of Capital?
I am finished. This has gone on for far too long. Trying to fit into your box of expectations had been my only goal since childhood. I see now that your expectations are not me. I won't let you define my life.