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Description
There’s a crack in the hole.
It’s been there longer than I can remember.
For all my life this hole has hung there on the wall.
Something I can wake up to every morning.

Sometimes it is occupied by a door.
One that’s always locked from the outside,
Always keeping me safe inside,
And imprisoned.

Sometimes the hole has been filled with a window,
Putting my despair on display.
Making me into a circus act,
While I look out and wonder,
If I’d be happier outside.

Once there were bars there,
Letting me reach out for freedom,
But making me happy for the security I have.
I felt the fresh air grace across my wrinkled skin,
I felt snow fall upon my fingers.

Alas, I wake up today to see the hole unoccupied.
With a crack slowly growing down its center.
As I reach out to touch it I feel the moisture of wet paint,
And the hole washes away to reveal there was never any hole at all.
So now as I lay firmly within my hold,
I wonder if my failure to escape was my own,
Or if escape was ever an option.

Description
There’s a crack in the hole.
It’s been there longer than I can remember.
For all my life this hole has hung there on the wall.
Something I can wake up to every morning.

Sometimes it is occupied by a door.
One that’s always locked from the outside,
Always keeping me safe inside,
And imprisoned.

Sometimes the hole has been filled with a window,
Putting my despair on display.
Making me into a circus act,
While I look out and wonder,
If I’d be happier outside.

Once there were bars there,
Letting me reach out for freedom,
But making me happy for the security I have.
I felt the fresh air grace across my wrinkled skin,
I felt snow fall upon my fingers.

Alas, I wake up today to see the hole unoccupied.
With a crack slowly growing down its center.
As I reach out to touch it I feel the moisture of wet paint,
And the hole washes away to reveal there was never any hole at all.
So now as I lay firmly within my hold,
I wonder if my failure to escape was my own,
Or if escape was ever an option.