Poetry

The Shackles That Have No Key

I hunt the moon

as it searches the sandy shores,

looking for the key it will never find.

My licking flames

touch its hide,

illuminating it for all the world to see,

but so lost

in its task is it

that the heat worries it not.

With a whine of despair that only hints

at the true longing

in its crater flecked heart,

it extends its gentle, pale

hands down to tug at the ocean,

pulling the waves back like blankets

cast from a bed.

Come now, my friend,

I cannot remove your shackles,

but I can take you from them.

 

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