Bondage.

Writhing,

wrapped in wrinkled

circles; coiled

and ready

for an escape

that never comes.

Tied up,

top to bottom

in a place

that usually brings peace.

This prisoner battles on

through burrows barely big enough

for its pink, plump size.

Born into bondage,

blinded at birth,

the worm is not the luckiest

of God’s greatest creatures

but it battles on regardless

of the raw material

it has been bless with.

Silently it struggles on,

trapped and turning

in a labyrinth that leads

to the light.

Out of the darkness

the worm is split in two;

a prisoner too used to

incarceration,

it finds the outside

a disorientating and dangerous place.

All eyes are on the blind

and their blazing eyes burn

into the back of this writhing worm.

Born into bondage

and trapped by the tragedy

of its God given graces;

the worm turns away,

turns back from the light,

back down the worm hole

and hides, happy to have the safety

of it’s own silent solace.

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