Too many ages have passed
between when the threads of my mind could run amok,
and now.
Day after day, each beautiful knot was pulled straight,
each convoluted thought made linear.
I did not want to fight it,
it was easier, you see,
to see in black and white.
Now all these straight and structured thoughts are gathering to form walls around me,
suffocating me.
I long for the freedom of unmolded shapes again,
struggling to recapture the lost shades of grey,
take a hammer to these walls of perfect linearity,
and let the storm rush in.
