Shackle me whole
fill me with your helium filled lies.
Chain me down
to an earth crusted melting pot.
This is not my home.
I remember the light sand
falling between my fingers.
The antique shop our uncle
bought his first guitar. I’ll run
when I can. Flee to the memory
of his first note. To the sun
shimmering off the golden
specs of dust.
Saint's Muse 