the mist before our eyes
if only they had...
the moon from the night
would we have been
the clear sighted children
our careful mothers prayed for
instead of what we were,
what we would become:
captive in our own native land.
the very forgers of our own chains.
on every hand said Solzhenitsyn
there is a door meant just for you
in the terrible labyrinth of a fate
you have no prior knowledge of.
you stroll out in the afternoon
not knowing you won't come back.
then it's too late: you're caught.
who can describe the lack of something
in the air when they close the gate
and you can no longer breathe
as you did in childhood.
starry eyed, you feel you're just the same.
such pirates await you child
of any Age, the same, the very same.
the candle flare of your soul
from their encroachment.
traps are set for you everywhere.
the netters of dreams.
mary angela douglas 24 april 2017