My emotions perch precarious inside me.
They rattle like birds in a cage.
Fatigue takes up most of the room,
broad and blue-plumed
on a faux-felled tree.
And little, yellow Anxiety
darts between his dullness and the wall,
stirring up seed and strands of straw
for an update on the floor’s condition.
All this beheld with sullen repetition
by Obsession on his acrobat’s swing,
picking dust from his coat
of ebony and counterfeit control.
And yet, in the center, suspended
by ropes ending in parallel rings,
dangles glimmering Hope,
somehow still pristine in the fervor.
Not above or below, but on her own plane,
serene and opalescent—
and despite the frail gate
she could game and escape,
she remains.
Obstinate. Ever-present.
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