The doors have no locks and the clocks run all the time.
There's no hole to fall through, there's no window to climb.
But one thought keeps on running through my mind,
If I stay where I am, will I eventually disappear?
When did standing your ground become a show of fear?
(C) 2016 Copyright Elena Plotkin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem