Woman In Slumber

A moment of mirth turns into a string of torment;

A heart inflated with gaeity, 

Becomes limp like a balloon , stung with a needle plain. 

Tis this unchartered course that lends soul, to a journey inevitable,

But for which,life would be filled with ennui, perpetual.

Wounds acquired, sport it like an armour bright;

As it heals and withers, you emerge from the cocoon, lustrous like a butterfly. 

Don't engulf yourself with chores mundane,

Pleasing people around you, is not the name of the game.

Killing the very you,in the pursuit of this absurdity, 

You're not half the person you used to be.

When you were young and gay , 

You dreamed a dream so big;

Wished to fly high up and take a peek,

At the world beneath. 

Trust me, tis was not vanity that propelled the big dreams;

It was the want, to revel in the beauty of creativity.

As years pass by, you end up with torn wings;

Which are no more capable of flight,

And like an injured bird, hop around in circles wide. 

Then the free world, you once dreamed of would instill fright,

And the cage you walked into unwittingly ...would be the only respite.

Wake up, and live every moment to your heart's content; 

Never hesitate to speak up your mind, or hold back in trepidation.

In the twilight of your journey;

When you sit and contemplate with your young un's,

Could tell them, you've 'been there', 'done that'. 

Enough reason for you, for your paths to mend.