CaptiveI've been cooped up for a week,
First, sick, then captive of the furnace
As it bravely fought against the snow
And howling wind outside. This
Morning, everything has changed.
I'm well. The air is docile. There's
No movement in the leafless trees.
The fields are lovely, brilliant white.
The sky's the purest, palest blue.
I ponder bolting from the furnace,
But I don't. Has Stockholm syndrome
Ruined liberty for me? I more inclined
To think that I still cannot face the cold.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 39 times
Written on 2022-01-03 at 16:56
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