Indie Scribe Magazine February 2015 | Page 42

Swaddled in these loving chains

I find it hard to move.

The links weigh down my every breath

And chafe against my skin.

Where once they gleamed they now corrode

And I am tarnished too.

Why won't I raise my fisted hand

And use the key within?

Cherished by this chainmail mask

I find it hard to see.

The links occlude my senses

and I can't tell where I've been

Swaddling Chains

© 2013 Frederick Andrew