Lines Poem by Christopher Teale
Lines
Lines that tell me where to walk,
in the bustling, crowded street.
On the black board, lines of chalk
lines to narrow for my own two feet.
A box, a trap that drowns me.
A minute abyss to deny action.
Too far to touch, so close I see
and in seeing can't know redemption.
To erase that blasted rule,
that silently chokes my breath
To break free from that geometry
to wake in a world that's truly free
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 4:45:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
