MANDALA # 07/1000
One foot in front of the other.
Tears fill my eyes when I stand alone.
I walk the same path.
I cycle the same thoughts.
I turn the key and cuff my hand.
chained to a responsibility I don’t want.
I often wonder if responsibility is the
adult word for misery?
Is this what it means to grow up?
I see the pain in their eyes.
I fear it’s building in mine.
My mind drifts with the music.
The sky is white.
The buildings are colorless.
The trees are bare.
I feel my skin turn gray with the city.
But then I see red balloons on top a leafless tree.
Life floods my body when I accept my skin.
They look beautiful as they are.
Not drifting away to the sky.
Not being tied to the ground.
Peaceful in their place.
Their vibrancy doesn’t dull from the darkness.
It grows brighter.