Shackles of old.

Locked in the embrace of a far-flung lock.
Scarred by the chars of the long put out fire.
The parallel lines strive to meet.
To be forever entwined in twigs, and discuss in a circle.
Served by the tutti fruity now ensnared in the galling aloe.

Chained in the forever embers of one time.
With expectations to follow the system of two. Emphasis on the one time so alien and foreign.
Hopes of living in two different realities.
Placed heavily on the little shoulders of one entity.
The impossible is not attained because the entity is not 'able'.

Relive not your past in me.
That is gone, now is now.
Two constitutions do not govern a country mom.
Times change and now it has.
In yours you abode, in mine I shall dwell.

Tis' not rebellion to not step in your steps.
Tis long cleared by the heavy snow fall.
My legs are ruled by a different map, and strapped in different shoes.
Where you stand your steps doth lead me, but therein is no abode of mine.
Two constitutions do not govern a country father.
Goals are different and mine is.
You followed yours, I want mine.

Free me from the shackles of old.
I long to run without the itching noise,
Of the dangling fetters tied to my ankle.

....the silent cries of a teenager.

By Virtue Ethe-Oghene.

#writewithflair

#writeheart