Tiny Prison In My Hand
It was some time between then and now that I was taken, snatched away during a dark and starless night.
Memories flash through my mind, broken, shattered, incomplete with jagged edges jutting out in space and time.
Episodes of me grasping out for rare outcroppings poking through the neural gray matter in my mind just to acquire an explanation for my disturbing behavior.
What is my purpose? why am I here? Why do I strive to remember while most seem free in the forgeting?
I can’t make sense of anything, or understand why the others just accept things as the surface shows them.
My fellow prisoners, the walking dead,
alive but afraid to live, consuming fear from our beginnings taught through parental subconscious conditioning.
What is this strange land that I have woken up and found myself a part of?
Here is a beautiful world that surrounds me, but lost, is its beauty to human flaws of being blind and broken
These subdued souls seem to only brighten by what they can take of our mother Earth for themselves or their children, and their children’s children much as their parents did for them.
