Feeling fingers
creep along my spine.
Cold inside,
but I’ve
decided on it.
Hopeless,
as a choice to be an effigy.
A light to burn.
An unsubtle warning.
Maybe all
of this has been
imagined and then sold.
The hand that was
reaching out
wraps around my throat.
What are the options?
Do we give way
to every harm
and pleasure?
Or do we burn
and guide
Back to the path
where we belong?
It’s possible
that the light behind us
Is somewhere we’ve never been.
Turned around.
Sailing
in circles,
once again.
HG – 2020