This is my own landscape
There is nothing left but the wind
And the rages of time
I sit out here on a plain,
a realm of my very own as I try to discover the whys of only me.
And why do I stay hidden deep inside and within these hidden passageways?
I do not want to be found
Life inside of here is brutal and the whispering sand now howls away as though it wants me to leave this deserted place that I have grown so accustomed to
But I shall never relinquish this hold that I have for this my own refuge
For I and I alone came inside of here and made it my own
Those hands that keep reaching out inside of here to take this me out of here shall never come to conquer me
For I shall sneak inside of my own shadow and remain forever stilled.
And he shall quickly leave this my place
For I am me.
© 2015, jo forstrom. All rights reserved.