Years pinched into dust

The carousel spins.

Shaking you choose a mighty stallion
Small hands bunching into his mane,
You cling to the beast as time starts to churn
Refusing to budge yet it is all in vein.

The carousel spins.

Years pass and tiny hands turn into mighty claws
Outgrowing your beast the stallion trembles,
Your claws are still trapped in his mane
As reality begins to disassemble​.

The carousel spins.

You growl as you realise you are trapped
Trapped by a choice ​you made when you were but yea high,
Glued to the spot you watch the years go by
Stuck on a carousel on which you must comply.
 

carousel

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One Comment Add yours

  1. 93bnmill says:

    Interesting take on the word ‘carousel,’ Sarah.

    It does give one a bit to think on, does it not? We can choose to get up on the horse, so to speak, but that does not necessarily mean getting back down will be easy. Our choices always have consequences. Some good. Others bad (such as being stuck and watching as the world passes us by).

    Liked by 1 person

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